


The Beautiful Lie

by AzarDarkstar, dracoqueen22



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-War, M/M, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 250,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzarDarkstar/pseuds/AzarDarkstar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the painful end, the echoes of war still prove their influence. Ichigo comes home to find a dead man in his kitchen, sparking a turn of events no one could have anticipated, least of all himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written and completed before the current arc in Bleach. The plot was designed sometime around when Ulquiorra was killed by Ichigo and I attempted to incorporate some of the later details, but where canon clashed with my ideas, I did not. So keep that in mind as you read. 
> 
> All interludes were written by the wonderful Azardarkstar.

When Ichigo comes home from classes that afternoon, there is a dead man sitting at his dining room table. He is not simply a spirit, a Shinigami, but an actual dead man. He is smiling and laughing with Ichigo's sisters, easily charming them as he did so many who had followed him.

Ichigo can only stop and stare because he remembers this man's death, remembers watching him fall with a smile on his face, remembers the end of the war. Remembers how remarkably anti-climatic everything was, how the battle had finished. Remembers wishing things had been different because a part of him deep down inside still feels that something is off in Soul Society, that one man's treachery might have had purpose after all.

His sisters wouldn't know what he looks like, wouldn't know the face of the man who threatened all of Seireitei and Karakura in his attempts at godhood. It had all happened so fast back then, fighting and desperately trying to stay alive. Saving Orihime and battling the Espada. Fight after fight after win after loss after coming out victorious, after struggling not to shed tears for a failure. After watching some people that he knew and cared about get cut down as if they were nothing, after wondering why he was the lucky one that gets to live another day.

After people telling him that he's a hero and all he knows is that he survived. And he never refutes them, never tells them otherwise because Ichigo knows they need that. They need someone to bear the weight of being hero, and who better than himself? They cast everything on him anyway; what would a little more matter in the end?

This dead man sits at Ichigo's table, a cup of tea before him and a plate of Yuzu's cookies, and smiles. Simply smiles, as if he has not a care in the world. His brown eyes are carefully shielded, and though Ichigo has become significantly better at sensing reiatsu recently, he cannot detect a smidgen of it on this man. Not a single flare or a tiny ripple, as if he has been completely stripped.

"Ichi-nii-san! You're home early," Yuzu chirps, having finally noticed his presence as he stands like a slack-jawed fool in the doorway.

She beams up at him, and he is reminded how much she looks like their mother when she does that. And then, Ichigo realizes he is on the verge of becoming an old man with thoughts like that and pushes it aside.

He rubs the back of his head, trying to be nonchalant. "Yeah, classes were out early."

His eyes, however, seem locked on the man who should be dead, but isn't. The man who is sitting there, calmly sipping from a teacup without even a slurp as if it were the most normal thing for a dead man to be doing.

Ichigo feels something tug inside of him, some kind of wondering mixes with a faint stirring of admiration. Even fighting against this man, standing up again and again with blood dripping from what seems like every limb, he had still wondered. He has never been the type to overly question his own choices, not when he knows what is right and what he must do. But in that battle, in that war, Ichigo had found himself wavering. Just for one split second, he had wondered if he was doing the right thing.

They had wanted him to join them after the war. They had asked Ichigo to become a captain, to take the place of one of the traitors. Ichigo had turned them down. He still had his own life, still had his schooling to finish, other things that he wanted to do with his future. He had everything ahead of him. And honestly, a part of him wanted nothing more to do with the Gotei 13.

"Oh," Yuzu responds just as cheerily as before. "That's good then. You can finish cooking, while I help tou-san in the clinic so that he can have a late lunch."

"Sure," Ichigo answers distractedly, unable to take his eyes at the real live dead man at his table.

Days worth of battle lie silently between them, and he almost swears he can smell the sharp scent of spilled blood and charred flesh. Can hear the echoes of screams of those he lost. Can feel the weight of Zangetsu in his grip and catches Shirosaki's constant nagging to be set free at the back of his mind. Sees again, Renji falling, his hair a bloody halo around his head to match the bloody spray on the ground around him. All the memories pass in a blink of an eye, and he somehow manages not to stagger.

"Nice to meet you, Aiiro-san," Yuzu says with a wide smile as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel and unwinds her apron from around her waist. She is nearly his height now, Ichigo notices, even though he has already had a growth spurt.

The dead man whose real name is Aizen Sousuke dips his head at Ichigo's little sister. "Likewise, Yuzu-chan. I hope to try some of your cooking on another day."

"I hope you do, too."

And then Yuzu is gone, humming some energetic tune under her breath as she goes to wash up and help their father in the clinic.

Karin is still there, however, propped against the counter and eying Aizen with that peculiar gleam that Ichigo has learned to recognize. She is keener than her twin, and Ichigo is sure that she knows something is up. Crossing one arm over her chest and balancing an elbow on it, her eyes flicker between Ichigo and Aizen.

"Ichi-nii didn't mention having an older friend," she states challengingly, just shy of being her usual aggressive self. As if she is testing out this stranger and trying to decide whether he needs a pummeling.

Ichigo finds himself proud of her.

Aizen is neither surprised nor intimidated by Karin's statement. He simply keeps his smile and steeples his fingers together. "We are old acquaintances," he tells the younger Kurosaki. "It has been some time since I have been able to see him, however."

Karin definitely doesn't believe him. And Ichigo knows she is already planning more questions to fire at Aizen. He steps further into the kitchen, casting his sister a warning look.

"We have some things to talk about," he tells her, heading to the stove where whatever Yuzu is making continues to simmer. "Could you give us a minute?"

Critical eyes, always so clever, flicker between them before Karin snorts and heads towards the door. "Fine." One hand waves in a sort-of goodbye. "I'll be watching TV." For her, it is a subtle warning that she will be nearby in case of emergency, despite knowing that her brother can take care of himself.

Ichigo waits for her to be long gone, using the time to check on whatever is cooking. When he hears the sound of the television, he turns to face the dead man, who has been watching him with interest. Those dark eyes gleam with a certain knowledge, looking ever so harmless behind thin-framed glasses.

"You have adorable sisters," Aizen says in that pleasant tone of his, balancing his elbows on the table and tangling his fingers together. "Really, quite strong-willed, they are."

"They've had to be," Ichigo answers, feeling the fraternal pride swelling up in his chest. He eyes Aizen with no small amount of suspicion. "How are you here?" In the back of his mind, Zangetsu stirs warningly. Fully prepared to do battle at a moment's notice.

Aizen takes in a long, steadying breath. "It is a long story, and I would be putting others in danger if I revealed it."

He levels a stare at the former overlord. "You mean, you would be naming traitors."

The other man inclines his head obligingly. "If you want to put it that way, then yes." His fingers slide around the edge of the tea saucer, an almost nervous motion if it were anyone else.

Frustration begins to weave its way into Ichigo's tone, but he fights it down for the sake of getting answers. "Fine. Why are you here?"

A hint of a smile pulls at Aizen's lips, neither mocking nor sincere, just somehow... _there_. "That is indeed the question, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo feels his brow twitch. "I could kill you," he reminds the traitor, though he isn't sure why since he hasn't made the slightest hostile motion yet.

The smile fades away, becoming serious. "Indeed, you could. I'm sure you've already noticed, but I have nothing to guard myself. No zanpakutou, no kidoh, not a single spark of reiatsu." And there is a touch of disappointment, of regret in his tone. As well as fury. But it is so carefully hidden by the placidity of politeness that Ichigo is thrown for a moment.

He watches Aizen warily. "You came to me. Why?"

"I think you know the answer to that, too," Aizen replies and sips once at the tea that Yuzu has served him. "She certainly brews this well," he murmurs.

Ichigo feels his brow twitch, and one hand drops to his pocket, where his Shinigami badge is always present. There is an urge to draw it, to pull Zangetsu and to cut this murderer down. But another smaller part of him wants to hear what Aizen has to say. Wants to know just why the man who should be dead is sitting at his table, complimenting his sisters cooking abilities. And why he hasn't tried to do anything... well, _evil_ in the past five minutes they've been chatting.

Shifting, Ichigo moves his attention to the pot, the wonderful smells emerging somewhat distracting. He stirs it again to give his hands something to do, though his senses remain ever aware of what should be considered an enemy sitting right behind him. The silence between them is perfectly placed amongst awkward, wary, and expectant.

He wonders why Aizen thinks he should know. But Ichigo remembers his own fleeting thoughts, those years ago, that maybe Aizen might have been right. Recalls watching Soul Society's methods with the taste of bile on the back of his tongue and finding himself harboring a hidden disgust for the old man at every shift in the tides of war.

"You want me to help you," Ichigo finally mutters, the realization coming slowly and laboriously. Seeping into his thought processes with sticky, painfully logical fingers.

There is a clink as Aizen replaces his cup into its saucer followed by a crunch as he splits a cookie in half, crumbs falling to the table. "I know you must wonder why I could possibly think that you, who fought so hard against me, would be willing to offer even a hand if I were drowning." There was a soft swish as he brushed the crumbs back onto the plate, ever so courteous and thoughtful.

"That is a start, yeah," Ichigo replies, and replacing the cover on the pan, he turns to regard Aizen with a lot of confusion and leans against the counter. His arms fold over his chest as he frowns. "Why me?"

Brown eyes meet his gaze steadily, and for a moment, Ichigo sees in them the echo of the loss that he too feels. He remembers that all of Aizen's former companions are either dead or scattered to the four winds. That Tousen had skewered himself on his own sword before facing Komamura. And that Gin had been ripped to pieces by Byakuya. His Espada, save the two or three they could never find, had been ruthlessly destroyed by the Shinigami as well.

It's rather human of Aizen, this terrorizing monster, to carry grief for his lost companions. Ichigo shifts uncomfortably in his stance, not liking this sudden bout of understanding that seeks to wash through him. He realizes that he only knows Soul Society's side of the tale, what Seireitei has ever told him and what they viewed as Aizen's plot. He finds himself wondering what a different tale the ghost in front of him might have to tell.

He watches as Aizen rises to his feet, very casually brushing down invisible wrinkles from his clothes. He is dressed like a human. Simple black slacks. Long-sleeved dress shirt worn buttoned but untucked. The simple square glasses give him a harmless look, and the tousled brown hair makes him seem completely so.

"I am sure that showing up unannounced in your home, where your sisters are present, has not made you amenable to my request," Aizen states simply, his tone carrying a hint of contrition. "But it was also my only choice of location where you would talk before attacking."

Ichigo inclines his head, though he is still suspicious. Aizen has yet to explain anything, and it is pretty obvious that he plans on leaving.

"Your point?"

A hint of a smile curves at Aizen's lips, likely amusement to Ichigo's still faintly hostile tone. "I will explain everything if you will meet with me. The ramen-ya near your university stays open late, yes?"

"You want me to agree to meet you?" Ichigo asks, feeling just a bit incredulous. It stinks of trap to him, but he also wonders what this Aizen can do to him.

No reiatsu and no allies, just how would he kill Ichigo? And for what purpose? Petty revenge? Aizen doesn't seem the type.

Aizen nods, and though he seems entirely confident, the faint slump to his shoulders shows a hint of uncertainty. "At eleven, if possible. Or you may pick the place and time, if it makes you more comfortable."

Ichigo could only stare at Aizen, unable to give either an affirmative or negative response. This definitely falls under some sort of traitor category, but who would he be betraying exactly? The Shinigami he has mostly abandoned? Or is it the echoes of those who fell fighting against this man?

The other man's gaze shifts past him, to the sickeningly bright gleam of the sun shining through the window. "You don't have to give me an answer now. I will be there regardless, and if you appear or of you do not, that will be answer enough."

There is a sense of hope there. And Ichigo finds it so ironic. This once powerful man – lord and master in his own rights, of a sandy and desolate plane called Hueco Mundo – is nearly begging for Ichigo's help, though in far less words. He is still proud, still a touch confident, but he is also weary and restrained. Sad. Perhaps lonely.

"Fine," Ichigo grounds out, through teeth grinding themselves hard enough to make his temple pulse with a new form of headache. Behind him, the lid rattles as whatever is simmering beneath it hits a low boil.

Aizen watches him for another long moment before seeming to come to his own inner conclusion. "Very well. Please, tell your sister once again that the tea was delicious and I appreciate her hospitality. Do not worry, I can find the door on my own."

And with that, he steps out of Ichigo's kitchen and into the hallway with a silent movement that belies his harmless appearance. Moments later, Ichigo hears the click of his door opening and shutting quietly as Aizen makes his exit. All Ichigo is left with is the impression of the man on his eyelids, the dishes carefully and considerately stacked on the table for easy transport to the sink.

The pot behind him gives an annoyed burble, and he hurriedly turns, lifting off the lid and turning the spoon a few quick times in the liquid. His free hand carefully lowers the heat so that it simmers, rather than boils, before he replaces the lid. Mindless, easy to accomplish task. Something he doesn't have to put any effort behind.

Not like this decision.

Sighing, Ichigo braces himself on the counter, heel of his palms digging into the cold edge. His shoulders feel ripe with tension even as he rolls his neck, trying to ease the stress that has gathered there. The choice sits heavily on top of them.

One hand lifts and reaches for the sink, turning it on to rinse out the spoon he has used to stir their lunch. No need to invite home invaders, after all.

"Are you going?"

Karin's voice makes him startle, and he drops the spoon into the sink with a loud clink of metal on metal. He turns to look at her.

"You were listening?"

His younger sister is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she regards him with too much knowledge for her age. "Did you really think I was watching a show meant for five-year-olds?" she counters, every inch of her smile filled with sarcasm.

Honestly, Ichigo hadn't been paying attention to whatever she had been watching. His entire focus had been on Aizen and whatever the man wanted from him. Karin looks at him, her dark eyes eerily focused and curious.

"What do you think is going on?"

Ichigo shrugs, tries to go for nonchalance as he turns back towards the sink and cuts off the water with a squeak of the knob. "I don't know."

"Are you going?"

He avoids the question for a moment as he moves to the table, scooping up the dishes Aizen left behind and placing them in the sink. The cupboards then rattle as he opens them, searching out what they would need for lunch in the next ten minutes.

"I probably should," Ichigo finally answers as Karin moves to help him, pulling out the necessary plates and utensils. "I don't think he wants to kill me."

In that moment, he is glad for Karin's maturity. As her outlook on many things often gives him a point of view he might not have considered.

Karin snorts. "Even I can see that," she states, but her eyes darken, as though recalling some horrific memory. "He has no reiatsu."

"They took it from him," Ichigo automatically points out, something churning in his gut at remembering that scene. Remembering watching the zanpakutou stabbing through Aizen's chest without killing him.

The look of defeat in the overlord's eyes had been the most apparent then. He had retained his arrogance, his assurance, up until the moment right before Ukitake-soutaichou's zanpakutou had skewered him. Ichigo remembers the bright flare of reiatsu, so compelling and choking as it had swept through the crowd and knocking some of the weaker Shinigami from their feet. And then, it had abruptly died, vanishing to nothing, leaving them staggering in the encompassing wake.

He remembers Aizen looking more like a corpse alive than he would have had he died in that very moment.

Ichigo sighs, sliding the last of the dishware onto the table with a faint thump. "Or at least, I thought they did."

His sister scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, and we thought he was dead."

Her words carry absolute truth, and a moment of silence settles between them. The scowl on Ichigo's face is a mixture of contemplation and curiosity. He tries to remember if he ever actually saw Aizen die, and if there had been anyone present who would have cared to mourn at the overlord's death.

"You're going, aren't you?" Karin asks.

And Ichigo honestly doesn't have an answer for her. At least, not one he is willing to admit aloud.

The door connecting the clinic and the home chooses that moment to burst open, slamming against the opposite wall with a harsh bang that echoes through the house. Loud enough to be heard, even in the kitchen.

"I'm staaaaaarving!" Isshin practically sings as he flitters his way into the kitchen, only to see Ichigo and throw his arms out wide. "My son! How wonderful to--"

His words and subsequent leap-kick across the table are cut off as Ichigo ever-so calmly tosses him against the pantry door, leaving yet another good sized dent in the wood.

Behind him, Yuzu makes a sound of exclamation. "Ichi-nii!" she chastises, opening the drawer to reach for a spoon. "You let it boil!"

Ichigo winces, hating to let Yuzu down in anything. "Sorry, Yuzu. I was distracted. I didn't ruin it, did I?"

She sparkles up at him, making him wish that everything was as easy to fix as an accidentally boiled pot. "The rice will be a bit too soft, but it's still edible."

The familiar banter of the Kurosaki family and all its craziness washes over Ichigo, and he finds himself breathing just a little easier. And as they sit around the table, chatting amicably over the meal Yuzu so carefully prepared for them, he feels a few steps closer to normal. He doesn't initially think about Aizen's request, though it lingers in the back of his mind.

He catches Karin's eye once, and he reads the wordless question there. Is he going?

The look she receives in return isn't an answer, but Ichigo has the feeling he has probably made up his mind. Curiosity perhaps or his own goddamned hero complex is driving his choice at the moment.

He only hopes that he isn't foolishly falling into Aizen's clutches.


	2. Answers

The ramen-ya that Aizen had suggested is a favorite amongst the university students, both for the cheapness of its noodles and the location right next to campus. Ichigo has been there on many occasions himself, stopping by for a quick bite to eat before or after classes. It also serves as a gossip-feeding ground, and the tables are often occupied by students in close clusters, meeting for group projects or something similar.

When Ichigo steps through the door at eleven pm exactly, he finds a restaurant that is nearly devoid of all college life. It is only a Tuesday, after all. The middle of the week and too early for students to be spending all night out of their homes or dorms. He sweeps a gaze over the available seats and realizes how much easier it would have been if Aizen still had his reiatsu.

He catches the head of tousled brown hair near the window on the far side of the restaurant. Aizen has an empty bowl in front of him, chopsticks set on top of the edges as he has already finished eating. His fingers are curled around a glass of water, condensation collecting on the sides. And his gaze seems to be captured by the view outside the dark window. Other than him, the employees, and the group of students by the door, it is deserted.

"Yo, Kurosaki-san!" Ono, the cook, greets from behind the counter, always able to recognize his customers. It is a special talent of his and another one that keeps business coming to his shop. "The usual?"

He isn't really hungry, but it would be rude not to order anything. "Yeah, that'll work." Ichigo gestures with his head towards the table where Aizen is waiting. "I'll be sitting with a friend, Ono-san."

"Gotcha." The cook's attention is then diverted back to his work. "Be up in five minutes at the most."

"Thanks." The answer is mostly reflex as Ichigo makes his way to Aizen's table.

He pauses beside it, not yet taking his seat. Aizen turns his head to acknowledge his presence. For a moment, Ichigo catches the shadow of emotions in the former overlord's eyes before they are carefully locked behind the strong, steel bars of his control.

"Kurosaki-san," Aizen greets politely, holding all courtesies. "You made it."

He can't help but feel just a little hostile. "Did you think that I wouldn't?" Ichigo nearly demands, looking down at the dead man who sits ever so casually at the table.

"It would be presumptuous of me to assume anything," Aizen replies with that bedamned calm of his. "Will you take a seat?"

Feeling his brow twitch, Ichigo shrugs out of his jacket and lays it over the back of the chair. "I'm here, aren't I?" he says as he slides into the empty seat across from the other man, finally on even ground with him.

Aizen watches him, face unreadable. "Yes, you are." One hand taps softly against the smooth ceramic of the tabletop. "What made you decide to come?"

"That's not really important," Ichigo easily dismisses, not wanting to relay the long hours he had spent in contemplation, wondering just what is supposed to be the right path. He instead fixes Aizen with a stare. "So. Talk."

If Aizen is bothered by his belligerence, he doesn't show it, still perfectly composed. "Very well. I suppose first you would like to know how I am alive?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Settling more comfortably into the chair that squeaks beneath his weight, Ichigo nods. He feels he would be lax if he takes his eyes off Aizen for even a second, and so he doesn't.

Aizen inclines his head and takes a tip of his water. He moistens his lips with his tongue and begins, "I will not reveal any names because I will not dishonor their risk. But to put it shortly, my execution was not by any means what Soul Society would have normally employed. Since the Soukyoku had been destroyed, they had to try something else."

"Here, ya go!" Ono interrupts their conversation and slides the bowl onto the table in front of Ichigo. "Need anythin' else?"

The former substitute shakes his head, offering Ono a smile of thanks as the cook grabs his towel from his arm and slings it back over his shoulder.

"Okay. Enjoy!"

And then, Ono is gone, leaving them to their meal. He knows that Ichigo will pay before he leaves.

As the food steams in front of them, Ichigo focuses on Aizen. "Then how did they plan your assassination?" he asks, poking in the bowl with his chopsticks and pushing the contents around. It is strange how he can ask about the man's planned death as though it were next week's weather forecast.

"Not unlike your human methods," Aizen replies softly, his gaze trapped by the window as though there is something fascinating beyond it. "Ukitake might be too kind for his own good. He would only accept a lethal injection, though other methods were certainly suggested."

Ichigo digs around in his ramen and selects a few choice bits to eat. He absorbs the information Aizen is giving him with a detached expression. He has a pretty good idea where Aizen is heading with his story, which narrows the suspects down considerably. But Ichigo isn't interested in placing the blame on someone for Aizen's survival. He is more interested in the traitor's future plans.

He pauses and eyes the other man. "Wait a minute. How could Ono-san see you?" he demands, pinning him with an accusing stare. "And Yuzu, for that matter. Where'd you get a gigai?"

The look Aizen returns is faintly amused. "If you're asking whether or not Urahara-san knows of my existence, then I cannot answer that because I do not know. This shell was a gift from the one who saved me."

Another question that Ichigo just knows Aizen won't answer. And he won't press either. He has learned thanks to Urahara-san, that it's pointless to push those enigmatic types to explain themselves when they have no intention of doing so.

His brief curiosity somewhat sated, Ichigo waves for Aizen to continue. "All right. Then how did you survive?"

Aizen's fingers curl around his glass of water. "The lethal poison was switched with something that put me in a coma-like state. And without any reiatsu, those who pronounced my death saw nothing more than a corpse. When I woke later, it was to the face of the one who had spared my life."

That certainly narrows down the suspects. Ichigo has a suspicion who it was, but he honestly doesn't care by this point. What's done is done.

He pokes around in the ramen a bit more, appetite nonexistent. On a normal day, he would be gobbling it down. But right now, the thought of food sends a leaden feeling through his belly. Biting back on his sigh, Ichigo folds his chopsticks over the top of the bowl and pushes it to the side.

"I think I get the picture," he says, scowl furrowing his brows. "I want to know what you plan to do now."

Rolling his shoulders, Aizen appears to be searching his face for something before he continues. "I've given up on becoming god," he finally replies with a tired sigh and rubs fingers over his forehead. "Without a spark of reiatsu, I couldn't anyway. Even if I wanted."

Ichigo stares at him, disbelief etched onto his features. "Then, what do you want from me?" Ichigo demands. "If it's not my help, then what?"

Brown eyes framed by thin glasses lift towards him, completely unapologetic. "I would like you to finish what I started for me," he says simply. "Take up where I failed."

Ichigo jerks to his feet, anger spilling over him in a cresting wave. "And kill everyone?" he demands in a heated whisper, still mindful of their audience. And then, the vizard realizes he really doesn't want to hear any more of it. "You're out of your fucking mind," he spits in the deranged man's direction and whirls on his heels, stalking for the door. One hand is already digging in his pocket to pay for the half-eaten ramen.

He hears a scraping sound and realizes that it is Aizen, rising from the table and moving to follow him. "Is that what you think I wanted?"

Ichigo pauses near the counter and hands over the correct bills for his meal as Ono-san watches the two of them curiously. The man wisely stays out of what appears to be argument, trying not even to think about what kind of argument it looks like.

"Isn't it?" he replies scathingly and glances at Aizen from the corner of his eye.

There is a hint of desperation in the older man, though it is clear that he is surviving within his composure. "I am an intelligent man, don't you agree?"

He refuses to answer the statement, and waving off the change from Ono-san, Ichigo continues towards the door. He steps into the cold autumn night and tugs the lapels of his coat tighter around him. Luckily, it is not a long walk from here to home. Footsteps quickly follow in his wake – Aizen.

"And as such, why would I want to become god of destruction and death?" Aizen asks, half-distracted by trying to pull on his own long coat and situate it around his taller frame. "Why would I want to rule over an empty and dead world?"

It sounds logical, but that isn't the reason Ichigo stops to turn and look at him. It is late at night, but he still doesn't want to be seen walking down the road with a man chasing after him and spouting things no one else would understand. He watches Aizen who is searching his face for some sort of sign and realizes the man has a damn point. A point that Ichigo had often wondered himself during the war.

Sensing that Ichigo is at least willing to listen for the moment, Aizen burrows deeper into the warmth of his coat and continues, "You can see it in history, if you look. When the governing body loses sight of its original purpose, when it takes its own path. Something, _someone_ must rise to put an end to it." He takes the risk of stepping closer to Ichigo so that the rising wind wouldn't dampen his voice. "Soul Society is corrupt."

He doesn't have a response for that, a part of him knowing that Aizen's statement is the absolute truth. He remembers how easily they had fallen to Aizen's manipulations. How quick they had been to judge. How well Aizen had been able to trick them, to make them see things that hadn't been there.

He knows that Aizen is right. Soul Society is corrupt. But what he isn't sure of is Aizen's plan, whatever it may be, and whether it is capable of ending that corruption. Or that destroying Soul Society is the best option. Soul Society is corrupt, but it is also necessary, and Ichigo understands that most of all.

He keeps his silence.

"Don't tell me that you don't think the same as I do," Aizen poses, his words like a prod in Ichigo's side. "Or that even once, you didn't have a doubt."

"I had plenty of doubts," Ichigo retorts, hands buried in his pockets twitching to do something. "But I still helped take you down."

Aizen is undaunted by his subtle hostility, by the reminder of his own past deeds. "And what did you preserve? Corruption? Injustice? Madness hidden by rules and regulations?" The wind stirred, spilling locks of dark hair into his face. "How long do you think they will let you roam without supervision? They already watch your Quincy friend, and he helped save an entire division. The seventh would be little more than ash and bone had he not been there." His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "Komamura owes your friend his life."

Ichigo stills. It is nothing but the truth. Ishida had helped Soul Society. More than made up for any supposed sins of his ancestors. He can't even hunt Hollows anymore, but they still watch him. Always watch him. And probably will watch any kids he has, too.

"They know what you are," Aizen adds softly, something unreadable in his tone.

The Vizard pales and feels his heart skip several beats in his chest. It takes all of his effort to swallow, and the saliva goes down sticky and choking. His Hollow. Aizen is speaking about Shirosaki in his roundabout way. The very thing that Seireitei would try to kill him for having.

Very few are aware of his Hollow and his existence as a Vizard. He can probably name the Shinigami in the know on one hand, possibly spilling over into the other. Somehow, he had managed to cling to his secret during the war, only relying on the mask when there presented no other option. But of them, who can he really trust? Who can he rely on to keep that part of his life a secret?

He can only really count on four to never say anything.

Byakuya would never tell, no matter how much of a bastard he can be. He had sworn as much during one of their rare conversations, shortly after Ichigo had saved Rukia the first time. Kenpachi and Hanatarou are both smart enough to keep their mouths shut and too loyal to even betray him accidentally. And Renji is beyond telling anyone.

As for the others, he can't be certain. Even Rukia would say something if she thought there is a good enough reason. And Ichigo did wonder if she'd already spilled his secret to her captain.

All in all, it is a very careful manipulation on Aizen's part to remind him of that danger he is always in. The danger of someone discovering his true nature and putting him on Soul Society's hit list. Or perhaps they already know and are just playing with him. Using him until the very moment his usefulness runs out. Ichigo isn't going to put it past the bastards.

He can still remember the sight of them sending lower-ranked Shinigami into battle, those who couldn't possibly stand a chance against the Arrancar. They had just been cannon fodder, a distraction against the real battle. He remembers watching them die and being helpless to put an end to it. Ichigo recalls the anger he had felt, burning bright and hot within him. He had turned that fury on the so-called enemy, on Aizen's forces, but he had also never forgotten that scene. Never forgotten just how expendable they were, how easily dismissed.

Ichigo shakes his head, feeling the chill of the night on the back of his neck. It travels down his spine, but he has the feeling it's not just the wind making him so cold. Aizen has a very obvious point, but still...

"I'm not helping you kill people," he states flatly, and no amount of convincing is going to change his mind. Ichigo is not a murderer, and he doesn't plan on becoming one.

He refuses to become like them. He has enough blood on his hands, enough deaths that haunt him. And one in particular that no one will ever understand. He can't add any more to his burden.

Aizen doesn't flinch, hardly even blinks at Ichigo's declaration. "What a coincidence," he responds quietly, voice barely carrying across the distance between them. "Since I do not want you to kill anyone."

Ichigo gives him a strange look, Aizen's words completely contradicting anything Soul Society has ever told him about this man.

"I no longer need to make a key," Aizen explains as he correctly identifies Ichigo's confusion. "I know where the real one is."

He searches Aizen's expression as he digests the news, his gaze raking over tousled hair and square-rimmed glasses. All so innocent and harmless appearing. Like the facade he had presented before betraying all of his comrades. He wonders if Aizen chose that mask when appearing before Ichigo on purpose, and he wonders which Aizen is really before him now.

Is the mask of Aizen Sousuke, captain of the fifth division, the one who really matters? Or is it the facade of Aizen Sousuke, lord and master of Hueco Mundo? Will he find himself watching Aizen rising into the sky, crumpling bits of his innocent and bumbling appearance in his hands?

Ichigo isn't sure what to think.

"I thought you said you didn't want to become god anymore," Ichigo responds and eyes him suspiciously.

"I have given up on attaining godhood for myself," Aizen clarifies, and a hint of something mysterious and vaguely Urahara-like begins to gleam in his eyes. "But that doesn't mean that Soul Society needs a new one any less. And I intend to provide him."

Ichigo hunches his shoulders, feeling his extremities beginning to take on a chill. In the far off distance, he senses a Hollow, hearing its roar at the edge of his hearing. He knows he should probably go take care of it, but he also knows that he is not the only Shinigami in Karakura. Nor can he imagine just walking away from what had been considered the greatest threat to mankind just a few years ago.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he feels the faintest surge of an answering reiatsu as the local Shinigami takes care of the random Hollow. Ichigo has never even met this new Shinigami and hasn't bothered to introduce himself. Never really cared for the woman's identity. And though he has seen her on occasion from a distance, she hasn't even made eye contact. She probably can't sense him, not after the grueling lessons Unohana-san put him through. For such a nice and polite lady, the healer can be a tough task-masker and just as firm as Yoruichi.

He sucks in a breath, his attention returning to Aizen. "And just who do you plan to set on this vacant throne?" he asks and wonders if his voice is as hoarse as it feels to him.

Aizen smiles. "You," he states plainly and without any hesitation in his voice.

Ichigo nearly chokes and has to lift a hand to cover his mouth when he starts coughing, now strangled on his own breath. He certainly didn't expect the other man to be so blunt or to throw such an option in his face. Him? Become the king of Soul Society? His aspirations have never been so lofty! He doesn't want it! A doctor, yes… but king? God in all but name?

Those eyes watch him placidly, and Aizen has the good graces to wait until he has at least regained some control of himself before continuing, "At least, that is my intention. But I cannot be certain that is what the world plans for itself. For all I know, it could choose someone else. I simply need your help to create that possibility."

His amendments make it no easier for Ichigo to breathe, and it feels like he has to grind out his next question. "I still don't see what you want me to do. Especially if the world doesn't _choose_ me… or whatever the hell you want to call it."

"I need your help to get the key," Aizen explains easily, though there is a flicker of something a lot like disappointment in his eyes. "In my current state, I am powerless to retrieve it for myself. As well as unable to use it."

Ichigo drops his hand from his mouth, returning it to the safety and warmth of his coat pocket. His fingers brush against the cold wood of the Shinigami badge, just to remind him of its presence.

"And then what?" he questions.

Aizen tilts his head. "You open the gate. We step inside and let fate guide us from there."

"Not much of a plan, is it?" Ichigo snipes rather nastily, his lips twisting towards a very rude sneer.

Aizen doesn't seem to take offense, displaying an unfair amount of patience. "Admittedly, it has some kinks. But we are dealing with a sentient being here, whose knowledge far supersedes my own. I do not believe I can accurately calculate what will happen."

He shifts his gaze to the side, contemplating what Aizen has just said. He's long past the point where he should have walked away, something keeping him rooted to the spot. Keeping him asking all these questions.

Finally, he asks the big question. "What makes you think I'm going to help you?"

Aizen isn't even taken aback. "I've said this before. You understand as much as I do just why the powers that be need to be dethroned."

"Which is probably true, but that doesn't mean I give a damn," Ichigo responds harshly, words colored by too many memories. Too many nights waking up in a cold sweat. "I left Soul Society and the Shinigami a long time ago. I don't care about them."

Dark eyes watch him. "And yet, you keep your badge close to you," Aizen points out, and Ichigo wonders if the man has been observing him before this. "You destroy any Hollow you sense, even if they threaten a stranger. You may believe that you have cut all ties from Seireitei, Kurosaki-san, but you can never fully be free from them. Just ask Isshin."

"What the fuck does my father have to do with this?" Ichigo demands, voice fierce and hard.

"I'm afraid that's a question I cannot answer." Aizen responds in that same calm tone, "You will have to ask him."

A growl of frustration echoes in his throat. "I'm tired of this," Ichigo tells him. "The fighting, the war, the blood, the--" He growls again, not sure why he is telling Aizen such a things. "I'm sick of it all. You don't know what you're asking me."

"On the contrary, I know precisely what I'm asking," he responds, his voice sympathetic. "And if I succeed, I can make all the things you are weary of end. It is one last battle, Kurosaki-san."

"One last battle that I don't care about," he mutters, feeling more than a bit hostile. He wants to leave but finds his feet glued to the ground. Some part of him drawn by Aizen's honesty, by his wants. He turns away.

"A week," the other man says to his back. "Think about it, Kurosaki-kun. All I ask is that you don't dismiss it so quickly."

"You're in no position to be asking anything from me," he hisses.

And again, Ichigo remembers Renji, covered in blood and falling to the ground. He remembers Orihime's tears and Chad's apologetic face. He remembers Ishida, never able to draw a bow again. He sees Yumichika standing disfigured over Ikkaku's grave and Rukia wishing for one last chance as cold, dead fingers slip through her own, never to rise again.

The memories crop up before he can stop them, and Ichigo's hands clench into fists in his pockets. He feels sick.

Behind him, Aizen shifts. "I apologize," he says and damn near sounds sincere.

As if he knows just what Ichigo is thinking, what he is remembering, and his own mind is helpfully supplying him with bloody images as well. Bloody, painful memories that tear at his heart and wake him up at night, gasping for breath and eyes burning with barely restrained tears.

It is this kind of confusion that tears at Ichigo, that makes him waver on a fence between betrayal and fidelity. Aizen grieves for what he has lost, just as much as Ichigo grieves for those he couldn't save. And Aizen is the one who is supposed to be _evil_ , the man in the wrong. The black side in the conflict. Yet, Ichigo feels like he is stumbling through a veil of gray where he doesn't know which is really the right or wrong answer anymore.

"I will be waiting," Aizen continues in that same quiet and yet vaguely hopeful tone. "At the ramen-ya, a week from now until eight. I hope that it will be ample time for you to think."

"It won't be the answer you want," Ichigo spits harshly, only half-looking over his shoulder. Catching the sight of Aizen standing in the corona of the street light even as he is bathed in the darkness.

Aizen inclines his head, seeming as if he expected that response. "Even so," he replies simply, calmly. "I will be waiting."

"Che." Ichigo doesn't give him another response, just trudges off into the night and heads for his home. A chill has settled into his bones, and he wants nothing more than to return to the comfort and warmth of his bed. To the familiarity of his family, even with their insanity.

He doesn't look back again, doesn't look to see where Aizen is going. He doesn't even know if he plans on thinking about the man's request, nor does he care what the former overlord plans on doing. That's Soul Society's problem, not his.

Ichigo has other things to worry about. Two more years, that's all that remains in his medical school education. And he has finals he needs to start thinking about. Yuzu and Karin should be looking into their own careers now, and he needs to be there for them. He doesn't need to be pulled into another battle, not when there is nothing at stake and everything to lose. When he has everything he has ever wanted. His true friends and family safe and happy.

He tells himself this, but he knows he won't be dismissing Aizen's request so easily. Even now, the words hover on the back of his mind, ringing of bitter truth. And a part of him tugs in Aizen's direction, agreeing with the man's plans. It is the same part of him that doubted all those years ago in the midst of the bloody battle.

Ichigo knows that the next seven days will be particularly taxing for him, all thoughts of school aside. And he hates the weary set to his shoulder, cursing Aizen under his breath for shoving all this contemplation upon him.

His distracted mind is too busy to even pay attention to the stray threads of reiatsu observing nearby. He never notices the eyes that have been watching his interaction with Aizen. Narrowed and angry.


	3. Discovery

He is doing his homework, a term paper due later this week, when he catches sight of the Shinigami badge out of the corner of his eyes. The red lights flash, as if to better catch his attention. It has been a while since the Shinigami have contacted him, and warning bells flash in his mind. But he also knows that he can't ignore the summons either. Else they might suddenly decide he is a threat.

How strange that this should happen only a couple of days after he had met Aizen. Yet, who could have possibly seen him? Ichigo thinks that it may just be coincidence, that there is nothing to worry about and he is being paranoid.

Frowning, he finishes out the last sentence and tries to keep the information on the edge of his mind. He has been putting off this paper until the last moment, mostly because the subject matter bores him to tears. But time is running out, and he needs to finish it quickly if he hopes to make high marks in the class. His future internship depends on it.

Rising to his feet, he gives a cursory glance around his room. Kon is nowhere in sight, not that he needs the mod soul to leave his body. Kon's probably off visiting Urahara and the other mod souls for the evening. Ririn has been known to drag him off for torture, cleverly designed as amusing little games.

He grabs the Shinigami badge off his desk and presses it to his chest. Then comes the disjointed feeling of his body toppling forward as his spirit remains standing. He catches the empty shell and sets it comfortably on the bed, having learned over the years the discomfort of slipping back into a body that has been resting in an awkward position. Minor details taken care of, Ichigo pushes open his window and disappears out of his room in a flit of shunpo.

After the end of the war and after his refusal of the position that had been offered to him, the Shinigami had allowed him to keep his title of substitute. He had also been declared the official liaison between the living world and Seireitei, at least for this portion of the planet. Along with that wonderful title had come the establishment of a location. One that when paged, he would immediately flock to in order to meet with whichever official had contacted him. It is a subtle, if not effective, way of keeping tabs on him. Ichigo is smart enough to recognize it for what it is.

On the edge of Karakura, between the clear demarcation of city and green forest, it is a patch of open field large enough to house a whole division. He doesn't know why they had chosen such an obvious location, but then again, Soul Society has never struck him as being particularly intuitive either. Besides, in the years that have passed, they have only ever summoned him twice, mostly to report on some new strange occurrence that he needs to be wary of.

Twenty minutes after his Shinigami badge had initially beeped, Ichigo lands with a barely audible sound on the concrete surrounding the field. It is deserted, a fact which surprises him. Usually, someone is already waiting. A breeze stirs, causing the overgrown grass to ripple in the open tract. The edge of his senses resonates with unease.

Ichigo frowns and steps out onto the field, already expanding his senses to search for the reason behind his disquiet. It is a step he belatedly realizes he should not have taken.

No sooner had his waraji touched foot to the grass-covered soil then his entire body freezes in place. He cannot move his legs, no matter how much he tries, and it feels as if his arms are glued to his sides. It is not unlike being caught in a binding kidoh; he has learned that feeling well enough.

Zangetsu thrums on his back; the ossan is not too pleased with this. And Shirosaki hisses with the same annoyance. But there is nothing either of them can do. Ichigo can already tell. This barrier has been crafted specifically for him because it doesn't respond to his rising reiatsu, even when it becomes tainted by a Hollow's edge. Beneath his feet, the invisible trap begins to glow a bright, sky blue. Positive evidence of the identity of his captors, not that he believes it could be anyone else.

_Shinigami_. He should have known.

Ichigo holds no illusions as to what is going on, but he feigns ignorance for his own sake. Someone, though he doesn't know who, must have seen him with Aizen. Must have run to the nearest person of authority and babbled their traitorous little mouths off. He wonders if he will even have a chance to speak his peace, if he can make these people see reason. He hasn't even had opportunity to make his choice before this happens. How like his luck to cast him down this path so quickly.

A low growl echoes in Ichigo's throat, and his finds his eyes narrowing in anger. He doesn't have long to wait before his captors make their appearance, flashing into existence with the aid of shunpo. He is quickly surrounded, and if he could turn, he would count those that were behind him. The ten in front, which seems a bit like overkill, is all he needs to know that he is definitively outnumbered. Their only saving grace is that every face among them is a stranger. He doesn't have to feel entirely betrayed, not just yet.

"What's going on?" Ichigo demands, though he has a pretty good idea already.

It is a waste of time to lament on the fact that he should have known better, so he doesn't bother. He can't go back and change his choice to appear, and even if he hadn't, they still would have come after him. At least this way, there is a small chance of reasoning with the madness.

No one seems particularly inclined to answer his question immediately, but a woman in a captain's haori steps forward. Ichigo doesn't recognize her, and if it weren't for the number on the back of her haori, he would not even be able to tell which division she heads. The eight is a pretty bright emblazon, however. And Ichigo can't help but think that she doesn't deserve it. The previous owner of that haori would never have participated in what this woman is currently doing. Would never have betrayed an ally, much less a friend.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the stranger begins in as authoritative voice as she can muster, lacking all of the smooth charm of her predecessor. "You are to be detained and questioned for suspected treason."

Brown eyes narrow, especially since he hadn't even so much as given Aizen an answer of any sort. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He wants to know just how much they think they know, just what they think they are going to pin on his shoulders. Soul Society is always looking for a scapegoat, and Ichigo doesn't plan to become one for them.

The stranger is unperturbed by Ichigo's hostility, standing straight and firm. "We have reason to believe that you have been fraternizing with the enemy," she continues, tone almost bored. "Most notably, one Aizen Sousuke."

That they are admitting the man is alive is a surprise to Ichigo. He feels his muscles tighten and subtly jerks at the invisible bindings locked around his frame. Yet, he quickly realizes that throwing his reiatsu at the unnaturally strong barrier is absolutely futile and ceases, recognizing that it is better to save his strength.

"Then you know he's alive?" Ichigo questions and doesn't care that it might as well be an admission of guilt. Consorting with the enemy, yes perhaps. Traitor? Not quite yet, but Ichigo thinks that he might just be convinced to become one.

The woman frowns, deepening the lines on her face. "The questions are to be saved for later," she intones and nods towards one of her subordinates, who steps forward with intention in every motion.

The next thing Ichigo knows, he feels himself falling, a great fatigue washing over his body. Darkness pulls at the edge of his conscious, and then, there is nothing but silence. A sleeping kidoh, the cowardly bastards.

* * *

Ichigo wakes to absolute silence and a great urge to find something, but what, he isn't sure. He is certain, however, that he lost some important object, and it is greatly important that he gets it back. He peels open his eyes and finds himself staring into a dim darkness. The only visible light is that which streams in through the window – moonlight – and the pale fluorescence of whatever was beyond the bars to his cell.

Yes, a cell. Ichigo isn't surprised to have found himself locked in one. There is something pressing insistently at his throat, encircling his neck, feeling cold despite his body heat. And his wrists are clamped within something wooden that rattles when he tries to lift them.

He is lying on an uncomfortable cot, and Ichigo forces himself to sit up, each motion rather difficult. It feels as if his reiatsu is trapped in his body, every surge and sound of it dangerously muted. It is hard to breathe, and he feels enclosed by his own skin. It is a feeling more claustrophobic than being trapped within the cell. And that explains the reason for the feeling of missing something.

Zangetsu's voice is a bare murmur in the distance, like being yelled across a canyon. And Shirosaki's angry shouts are even further, so muted that he can only make out the reverberations of noise.

His bare feet touch the cold floor, and Ichigo winces, a shiver creeping up his spine. It is cold and dark here, empty. He doesn't like it one bit. Rolling his shoulders to ease the ache that had gathered in his upper back, his eyes find the bars of his cell. Beyond, he can see one guard on duty, another face he doesn't recognize.

And then, a door shuts outside his line of sight, attracting the Shinigami's attention. He watches as another form steps into view, one he does know, and speaks briefly with the man on duty. The stranger shrugs, gestures towards the cell. And his visitor turns around, giving him a full view of her expression.

Apology. Regret. Shame and guilt. All these and many more describe the flurry of emotions that flicker across Rukia's face.

Ichigo sits a little straighter, forcing his tired body to face the barrier that stands between them. Rukia steps to the bars, chewing on her bottom lip in worry. Her big blue eyes are so apologetic that it makes him sick, and he realizes that he is looking into the face of his betrayer. But even so, when she admits it, he can't help the shock.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo," she whispers, hands dropping from their aborted motion to touch the bars.

He realizes later that it is because they have been rigged. Soul Society really fears for his escape, as if he could with his reiatsu bottled within him and out of reach.

"I didn't think this would happen."

Ichigo's eyes harden, jaw set as the sensation of betrayal begins to set in. Now, he knows how Hinamori and Kira felt all those years ago.

"You did this?"

She shakes her head, not a denial but a motion of regret. "What was I supposed to do?" Rukia asks, her tone urgent as though begging for him to understand. "All I could see was Aizen, and we all know how he can hypnotize. I was worried."

Surprise turns to fury so quickly that Ichigo is on his feet before he knows what he is doing, strengthened by the force of his emotions. He storms up to the bars and fixes her with his most volatile glare. One that even works on the geta-boushi and sends most people running.

"I risked my life to save you, and _this_ is how you repay me?" he hisses, the vein in his forehead ticking dangerously. "By running straight to them without even _asking_ me?"

She flinches at the force of his tone, at the accusation in his words. "I was trying to help you," Rukia replies, and for him, it is strange to see her so meek. So lost and utterly confused.

How could she have expected Soul Society to act any different? Did she think they would invite him in for tea and cookies, calmly ask him to explain why he was consorting with _the enemy_?

Ichigo remembers the other Vizard and wonders how Rukia could have forgotten them and what Soul Society had done to them so quickly. The Vizard, who had stepped out of the shadows to join the cause against Aizen. As much as they hated Soul Society, they despised Aizen even more, though Ichigo still isn't sure why.

They had fought, and they had bled, and they had grieved, for two of their own had fallen. They had thrown themselves into battle after battle, helping Soul Society emerge victorious. If not for their aid, the war might have dragged on longer. And if not for Shinji, Aizen might not have been defeated.

Yet, when it was all over, Soul Society refused to simply let them go. They wanted to return to their freedom, and Soul Society preferred that they were kept under observation. That they be watched and studied and ruthlessly surveilled, just to make sure they wouldn't become a threat in the future. Predictably, the Vizard wanted none of it. They vanished into the night, and not even Ichigo had heard from then since.

How could Rukia actually believe that Soul Society would do anything _but_ throw him in jail?

"Next time, don't bother," Ichigo snaps and turns his back on her because if he looks at her face any longer he'll find himself feeling hatred. And Ichigo doesn't want to hate Rukia because although she has betrayed him it wasn't out of ill intent.

He can't help but think that Renji would have never been like this. That Renji wouldn't have turned him in. He would have confronted Ichigo, would have demanded answers. Would have tried to beat the truth out of him first. Would have found his own facts first. It would have been awkward and full of some type of confrontation, but he would have asked. Renji was always too forward for subtle and would have known that Ichigo wouldn't want help like this. Rukia never could understand that about him. Not for the first time, Ichigo wishes that Renji hadn't died in the war.

His shoulders square, the shackles around his wrist rattling in place. "Obviously, I can do better on my own."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Rukia cries, voice rising a bit too loud for the hushed conversation she is attempting. "It's not like you talk to me."

Ichigo can't answer that. The truth is now that the war is over and the Shinigami have collected their victory, he has nothing to do with them. All those who helped have returned to Soul Society, have pulled back into their own lives, and Ichigo has returned to his.

He has concentrated on being human, so he rarely sees any of those he had known as a Shinigami. In fact, unless he has specifically visited for some reason or another, he doesn't see them. They've all returned to their own lives, as if the whole war with Aizen had never happened.

Perhaps it is their way of coping. Ichigo knows that part of it is his. If he doesn't have to look at them, he doesn't have to be reminded of his failures and their mistakes. He doesn't have to hate some of those he would rather not. He doesn't have to see all the things that made him sick to his stomach during the war.

He doesn't have to question his own choices.

Rukia lets the silence surround them for a few minutes longer before she fidgets and finally speaks again. "There's more," she admits quietly.

Ichigo finds himself growing cold. What more could there be but another secret that Rukia would give them? He turns to face her, fatigue pulling at his body. But he won't be convinced to sit again, not now. He wants to know just how much she has betrayed him. How deep she's twisted in the knife.

"What?"

Rukia sighs, fingers rising to press at her temples as shame causes her eyes to meet the floor. "I told them you were a Vizard," she admits and chews on her bottom lip. "But I only did it because I thought you needed the help. That maybe the Hollow in you was trying to--"

"Trying to what?" Ichigo demands loudly, his voice harsh and accusing. He steps towards the bars, close enough that the light can reflect on his eyes. "Betray everyone? Like you've already done? Gods, are you trying to get me executed?"

She winces again. "Ichigo--"

He shakes his head, cutting her off because he really doesn't want to hear her excuses. "I fought in that war for the better part of two years. I bled for them. I nearly died more times than I can count. And not once, _not once_ , did I ever falter. Not once did the truth of what I am put anyone around me in danger."

"I know that, but--"

"No," Ichigo interrupts coldly, staring down at her from his greater height. "No, you obviously don't." And he just looks at her. "I'm not a monster. But you seem to think me one."

"Ichigo, I--"

He makes a harsh sound and refuses to let her finish the sentence; it all sounds like excuses to him though she might be sincere. The paling of her features might be fear that she's losing someone who is supposed to be one of her closest friends. And Rukia can't have that because she's already lost one of her dear brothers. She doesn't want to lose him, too.

And maybe that is what has driven her to this betrayal of him. Maybe it is this fear that made her rush into a situation without thinking. But Ichigo doesn't allow that as an excuse. Not right now. Not when it is _his_ hands that are in shackles and _his_ life on the line.

Ichigo draws in a breath, body shaking from the force of his own emotions. Treachery stings heavily and tastes bitter, like acid on his tongue. And anger is attempting to consume him. Try as he might, he cannot control it.

He lifts his head to get a hold of himself and looks down on her from the corner of his eyes, tone turning soft and accusatory. "I fought because you asked," he reminds her, thinking of her pleading eyes and words that had reminded him of all that he had to protect. "You were my friend. I couldn't – and didn't – say no."

"Ichigo..." she whispers, swallowing thickly. And her face is so pale, so full of shame, that it makes his stomach clench. "I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. I didn't want this."

But he is no longer listening. He has more he thinks he wants to say, but the words die on the tip of his tongue, and all he can do is look at her. His hands clench in their shackles. Part of him thinks that he should blame Aizen, too. For being the one to contact him, for putting him in the line of sight. But he also knows that Soul Society is just as much to blame.

On the corner of his vision, he can see the door, and before he can speak again, the knob turns and more people step inside. He doesn't recognize their garb, only knows that it is very official appearing. Important.

Surely, they won't execute him without some sort of hearing? Some sort of questioning?

Rukia's eyes widen at the sight, and she quickly moves to the side, playing the part of impartial observer. Her hand drops to her side, and it is only then that Ichigo realizes she doesn't have her zanpakutou. He wonders if they took it from her before allowing her to visit him. Even among her allies, she isn't trusted.

"Visitors are _not_ allowed," the officiate in the front of the mob states, giving Rukia a very cold and disapproving glare. "Who allowed you entrance?" he demands rather than asks.

She flinches at his tone before drawing herself up straight, effecting a noble pride that Ichigo hasn't seen her invoke before. "The soutaichou himself," Rukia declares, eyes narrowing. "What _exactly_ are you accusing him of?"

He barely gives her a second glance. "That is none of your concern," the leader states, and with a passing look to one of his subordinates, he sends Rukia from the room. She doesn't get a chance to say anything more as they forcibly remove her from the jail, shoving her out the door and slamming it in her face.

Ichigo vaguely wonders if it is the last time he will ever see her. See anyone he can recognize as friend and not political foe.

The officiate then pins a disapproving stare on the guard of Ichigo's cell, who cringes under the force of it. He doesn't even have to say anything; the look is enough. On the edge of Ichigo's senses, he can feel a trickle of power, and it is painful. Without the blanketing shield of his own reiatsu, the touch of any other's stings, abrades him. Like scraping rocks over bare skin.

Ichigo barely contains his gasp, shoulders hunching under the pressure. He can't imagine what it would be like in the face of someone more powerful. Crippling probably.

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

It takes all his effort to drag his gaze up to the man, flanked by several of his lackeys. The officiate's gaze is cold, emotionless. The perfect picture of platitude and complete obedience. Ichigo doubts he has even thought about his orders, simply obeying because they are commands.

"What?" he asks and doesn't bother with manners. He doubts his playing pretty words with anyone will grant him any sort of goodwill. They've already made their mind up about him; this is all a formality.

He's seen it all before.

The guard scampers forward, hurriedly shoving his key in the lock so that Ichigo can leave without the officiate having to fetch him.

"It is time for your trial," the man says, as though Ichigo hasn't figured so much out for himself. "Come along."

Ichigo obeys, only because it would be pointless to do otherwise. He can't fight back, even if he tried. The swell of their reiatsu steals his breath, and he belatedly realizes that they are not even that powerful. If it had been Kenpachi or Byakuya, he would be drowning in it. And if it had been the old man, Ichigo would probably be dead. He doesn't know if he should be relieved.

He steps out of the cell, and immediately, he's flanked by several members of the mob. His hands are attached to a long chain, and another connects to the collar around his throat. It becomes difficult to swallow over the thing, but Ichigo keeps his silence. He seethes beneath the surface, wishing he had Zangetsu. A part of him wishing he had never helped preserve this farce of justice. Thinking that maybe Aizen is right after all.

They escort him quickly through the calls, and Ichigo can feel eyes on his person. Random Shinigami he doesn't know stopping to watch and stare as they lead him somewhere, Ichigo isn't sure where. He doesn't know Seireitei well enough to recognize anything, though the tall white column of the Repentance Tower is visible just in the distance. A mocking reminder.

Eventually, they stand before a set of double doors, easily twenty feet high. The officiate steps ahead of him and pushes the massive white structures open with nary a creak, gesturing for his followers and Ichigo to precede him. It all seems terribly ceremonial, and Ichigo wonders if they planned it that way out of some sense of pride.

It is much brighter inside than out, and he blinks to try and restore his sight at the sudden change. Black dots invade his vision, and there is a low thud as the doors close behind him, sealing him within the room. The chains are dropped from the hands of his guards, and they melt into the shadows. But Ichigo is under no illusions of escape. He can feel the press of reiatsu surrounding him, crawling creepily across his skin like the skitter of a spider.

He is some sort of chamber, surrounded on all sides by Shinigami and other important members of Seireitei. Directly in front sits Ukitake-soutaichou and fourteen strangers in matching uniforms divide themselves to either side of him. Ichigo has no doubt by their severe expressions and aged faces that they are members of Chamber 46. And Nanao looks uncomfortable standing behind Ukitake, as though she is there because she is supposed to be and not because she wants to be. No doubt the grief for Kyouraku Shunsui's death is still strong.

To each side of Ichigo is a panel with the representatives of the Gotei 13 – captains and their vice-captains – each seated at a table with their seconds standing behind them. Second through the seventh division on the left and eighth through the thirteenth on the right. Some faces, he recognizes. Some, he does not. Kenpachi unsurprisingly is not present. In fact, the eleventh division space remains obvious for its vacancy. No doubt they have been confined to their division, unwilling to stand for this farce

There is someone he doesn't know sitting in front of Omaeda, a woman who matches Soifon for sourness but not quite for skill. Ichigo remembers watching Soifon die and being too far away to do anything about it. He remembers the harsh spray of blood as she fell to Barragan – an honorless attack from behind – and the viciousness in Yoruichi's counterattack. How she ripped apart the second Espada as though he were nothing more than tissue paper.

He remembers Yoruichi's following grief, how she had scooped up Soifon's body and had disappeared for days. A week even or more. No one knew where she was, not even Urahara, and when she reappeared later, no one asked. They didn't dare. And in Aizen's next assault, Yoruichi was a vengeful spirit on the battlefield. He clearly remembers the look of blood splashed on her cheeks as she flashed in and out of enemies, leaving ruin and madness in her wake.

There is another stranger in the third division captain's place – a man who definitely doesn't match his predecessor, and Kira stands placidly behind the bulky, older male. He looks no better than the last time Ichigo saw him, and he is almost surprised that Kira's grief hasn't consumed him yet or that he would even accept a new captain. There is a bitterness there, where Kira hasn't quite forgiven Byakuya for Gin's death but still recognizes the necessity of it. Ichigo doesn't think they'll ever promote him. In fact, he's shocked they are still keeping him an active member of the third.

The fourth is the same, though Isane's grief probably hasn't healed with time either, and he almost wishes that Hanatarou could give him the same shy smile and wave. But Hanatarou is not here because he's only the seventh-seat. And they wouldn't allow him to do so anyway.

The fifth has a new captain and vice-captain both. It is the position they wanted Ichigo to take, offering it as though it were considerably appropriate. Ichigo still feels sick inside at the offer. He didn't even need to think before turning it down. He hadn't wanted anything else to do with Soul Society. He doesn't know what happened to Hinamori; Ichigo never thought to ask.

He thinks that he sees a flash of black tattoo behind Byakuya, but it takes a deep breath and another careful look before he reminds himself that it's not Renji. That it can't be Renji. It shouldn't surprise him that Renji's been replaced either because he vaguely remembers Rukia mentioning something about it. Of course, they would have to replace Renji. They couldn't leave the Gotei 13 in shambles because it left them vulnerable. Positions needed to be filled.

Byakuya's face is perfectly blank, devoid of all expression. His eyes, however, tell a different story. One filled with disapproval and disdain. He watches everything with a straight back, poised, as though preparing to jump into battle at any moment. Ichigo wonders if he can even smell the blood on his hands anymore.

Komamura sits beside him, his vice-captain unchanged. The bastard is alive thanks to Ishida, he and his entire division. Yet, there is not an ounce of gratefulness in his eyes. They still watch the last Quincy, still half-expect him to do something crazy.

On the other side, a familiar yet unknown face greets Ichigo. The captain of the eighth, the same one who had come to arrest him. He thinks that her predecessor wouldn't have stood for this. The space behind her is empty, where her vice-captain would likely stand. He isn't surprised that they didn't allow Rukia to attend this travesty of justice.

Hisagi is the new captain of the ninth, though Ichigo anticipated as much. The man always seemed unusually driven from what little Ichigo knew of him. He remembers the one-time lieutenant helping to take down his former captain, remembers the bankai he surprised everyone with. How wind that cut like knives ripped through the area. Hisagi was like black death, sweeping over the battlefield. And behind him, there is a face Ichigo does not recognize.

The tenth is entirely unchanged, and Rangiku-san shifts behind Toushirou, clearly disappointed with the turn of events. Toushirou seems to be an immovable object, much like Byakuya, one hand clenching into a fist on the tabletop. Several fingers are missing, and though Ichigo can't see it, he knows there is a ragged gash on Toushirou's back. Ugly and deep, a wound he almost didn't survive. Halibel did quite the number on him before he managed to strike her down.

As mentioned before, the eleventh is empty, but the twelfth is represented. Kurotsuchi looks bored, and his daughter stands behind him. They emerged relatively unscathed from the war, Kurotsuchi with a few new toys to experiment on. Ichigo tries not to think about it because he doesn't want to remember those horrifying images, and just a glance at the twelfth division captain makes him swallow down rising bile and move on quickly.

The thirteenth has a new captain, some man that Ichigo feels he should recognize but can't. He's never been good with faces. And Ukitake-soutaichou's former third-seat stands just behind him, looking as if he'd rather never gained his position. Kiyone's death was not been easily accepted, not by her peers and not by her sisters. Ichigo wishes he knew more about how she had died, but he hadn't been there at the time.

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

His name is called, and he jerks his attention back to the front, resisting the urge to stand at attention as though he has done something wrong. Ichigo hasn't done anything. Yet. He can feel the eyes on him the same way he can feel the trickles of power thrumming through the floor and flowing out from the walls, creeping up his unprotected body.

Silence reigns, and Ichigo's trial begins.


	4. Judgment

He licks his lips, and the chains rattle as his wrists twitch, aching from their long confinement. Zangetsu is so far away, Shirosaki even farther, and he wants them here with him now. Reiatsu crawls over his skin, prickles his flesh. It burns, and his stomach churns, but Ichigo remains placid. He knows he should have anticipated this.

Ukitake-soutaichou sits like an impenetrable pillar of strength at the head of the proceedings, though his face is pinched with fatigue and stress. He doesn't want to be here anymore than Ichigo does. And Ichigo suspects that this is not his doing alone, that the aged faces to either side of him have much to do with it.

"Do you know why you are here today?"

Ichigo doesn't bother with respect because they haven't given him any. "Your lackeys have made it pretty damn clear."

"Then, you don't deny your involvement with the notorious criminal Aizen Sousuke?" one of the panel members demands, sitting forward eagerly. Clearly, he wants to see an execution, to see some sort of bloodshed.

Brown eyes flicker his direction lazily before Ichigo returns his attention to Ukitake. "I didn't say anything close to that."

"But you did speak with him, yes?" another of Chamber 46 asks – a woman, her hair pulled into a severe bun and thin but deep lines around her pursed lips.

He briefly argues with himself whether to tell the truth or to lie. Until he realizes that either way, he is a condemned man. Seireitei has never been interested in truth, only their parody of justice. They've been waiting for an excuse to kill him. It has now so neatly fallen into their laps.

Ichigo works his jaw. "Aizen Sousuke is dead," he says because as far as they are supposed to know, that is the truth. Hell, he believed it up until less than a week ago. He has never thought to believe anything different.

"He is _supposed_ to be dead," Kurotsuchi corrects in that whiny, pre-pubescent tone of his. It is condescending and lofty, proving how superior he felt to others. "But obviously a mistake was made."

Snorting, the Vizard rolls his shoulders, muscles uncommonly stiff. "Considering who I'm dealing with here, I'm not surprised," Ichigo comments with an unusual sense of snark falling from his lips. He doesn't feel inclined to stop it.

One of the Gotei 13 makes a noise, but it's nothing verbal so Ichigo can't identify who. It sounds like derision. It could be anger. Maybe it's one of the captains he doesn't know.

And Ukitake-soutaichou levels a look at him; it is almost pleading. "Did you or did you not make contact with Aizen?" His voice sounds stern, the very essence of authority. It is not the burning heat of Yamamoto but the cold pressure of an ocean, surrounding and enclosing Ichigo. Threatening to drown him. But only a threat, no real danger.

"I wasn't the one who did the contacting," Ichigo replies, and his eyes are for the captain-commander alone for the moment. Looking at a man he had once considered like a friend and teacher to him. Like a lot more than that. "A dead man shows up in my kitchen. You tell me how I'm supposed to react."

There is a grumble of discontent at his words as they murmur amongst themselves. He can feel their varied opinions rippling over and around him, but Ichigo doesn't care. Or at least, he tells himself he doesn't. He doesn't honestly believe that they'll come to any other decision than death of some sort. He can only hope that they don't touch his family and friends. He hates that he won't be able to go down fighting, the cowards.

"Why would Aizen come visit you?" another member asks, tapping manicured fingernails on the tabletop. It is an annoying sound in the silence, grating and echoing around the high ceilings.

He can hardly tell them that Aizen wants him to be the king of Soul Society; that would go over so well. So Ichigo just shrugs and tries to swallow around the collar encircling his throat. It's harder than it should be.

"How should I know?" he deflects. "Other than the war, I'd never met him before."

There is a snort of disbelief. "Or maybe you were allies with him during the war, and he's trying to regain his lost empire." The voice comes from the Gotei 13, and when Ichigo looks, he realizes that it is the head of the fifth who speaks. His lips curling into a disgusted sneer. He is trying too hard to prove he is not like his predecessor.

"Maybe," Ichigo responds vaguely because if he can't break free, at least he can keep any knowledge from them. He is telling the truth, after all. He's still not certain what Aizen wants from him. And he never really got the chance to make his own decision.

Ukitake-soutaichou lifts one brow, confusion momentarily breaking his stoic facade. "You claim him as an ally now?" his tone is soft, almost heartbroken. But he doesn't have the right to feel that way.

"No." Ichigo represses a sigh of irritation. " _Maybe_ he's trying to build an army again. I don't know. But I do know that I fought _against_ him the first fucking time around."

They grumble discontentedly at his vulgarity, but Ichigo doesn't care because he's angry now. Angrier than he's been the past few years. The first truly lively emotions he's had since the war ended, leaving him wondering how he was supposed to return to a normal life after everything he'd seen.

"I _bled_ and _ached_ and _killed_ for the sake of a friend, and this is what it brought me." His gaze flickers harshly around the room, landing accusingly on each familiar face for a split-second before moving on to the next. "Some recompense this is." He makes a sound of disgust, the taste of something bitter on the tip of his tongue.

"It is not that we are ungrateful," Ukitake begins, but before he can even finish his statement, someone else cuts him off. None of the other captains would dare, but Chamber 46 goes by different rules.

"And the reports that you are a Vizard," another woman interrupts, perhaps the youngest of the lot but no less severe. In fact, she looks the least inclined to believe him and to have mercy. "Do they hold true or false?"

Ichigo thinks that had he these cuffs off, he could show them the validity of the reports. And they would regret having ever asked. As it is, he is having enough trouble keeping a steady breath under the climbing reiatsu in the room.

"Byakuya destroyed my Shinigami abilities the first time we encountered each other in the living world," Ichigo answers, not even sparing the mentioned captain a glance. He doesn't want to reveal Byakuya's own promise, a kept secret that could ruin him. That could end his life. "Did you think that I could just return with my abilities intact and not suffer any consequences?"

One of the newly appointed captain's sneers. "Urahara," he spits in a disgusted tone. "That man has always stretched the limits of science."

Kurotsuchi sniffs. "Do not tarnish the name of science. It has benefited you in more ways than you could possibly imagine." There is something there in his tone, a sense of indignation, and not entirely for himself.

Ichigo blinks and wonders if he imagined it.

The strange captain, a rather smallish sort with a beady stare, narrows his eyes like he is merely itching for a fight and not caring who will give it to him. "Much in the way it has created your appearance, I imagine," he retorts, and a sense of hostility begins to creep into the chambers.

Ichigo realizes that despite appearances, the Gotei 13 is not a unified group. There are thin beads of tension between all the captains, and the newcomers haven't been as accepted as the higher-ups would lead them to believe. It isn't working, and no one's saying anything. It's a government that's tearing itself to pieces, and they're too wrapped in their pride to do anything about it.

Ukitake-soutaichou senses that trouble is brewing between his captains, and before Kurotsuchi can retort, he speaks sharply. "Enough. Your grievances can be addressed later. This is not the time."

Suitably chastised, the two captains trade annoyed glares and grumble under their breaths. They say nothing else, and it returns to a vague sort of order. Back to the matter at hand, after all, deciding how best they can kill Kurosaki Ichigo and make it look legitimate. Ichigo knows where this is going. And though there are several who might not want to see his death, there are more too terrified of the power he wields. And frightened leaders are cautious leaders, who care nothing for innocence or guilt.

"Are you aware that Vizard capabilities are punishable by death under Seireitei law," one of Chamber 46 questions him, now that the captains are back under control.

The very threat in her voice would have made Ichigo's spine shrivel had he not been expecting it. "In case you have forgotten," he returns, annoyed that she is speaking to him as though he were a dull child, "I am a human. I didn't go to your precious Academy."

"You cannot seem to decide which to claim," the new leader of the eighth states, a sense of bemusement on her severe features. "You are human. You are Shinigami. You are Vizard. Which are you?"

"You have forgotten one. He is also Aizen's ally," the new third division captain adds with a smarmy smirk on his face that is all too reminiscent of his predecessor. Though undoubtedly Ichimaru's would have been far more pleasant.

"That has not been proven," Ukitake quickly interjects with a stern glare to his captains, though it is clear that control is quickly slipping through his grasp.

Ichigo wonders if he should feel grateful for the half-hearted defense and then realizes that he shouldn't bother. If Ukitake were really trying to help him out, this would have never happened at all. He is the most powerful man in Soul Society at the moment. They could not have forced him to do anything.

One of the female members of Chamber 46 frowns deeply, disapproval clearly written into her features. "He isn't clearly answering our questions. How can we be sure he isn't in league with Aizen?" She gestures vaguely.

"And for that matter, even if he is not, there is still the issue concerning Aizen's contact with him," another adds, and Ichigo's head spins in an attempt to connect voice to face. There are too many severe and important people crowded into this space. "He is obviously part of Aizen's plan. We cannot ignore that."

"Kurosaki-san has always supported the Shinigami," Byakuya inserts, a steely glint entering his tone.

It is the first time he has spoken, and though his tone is devoid of emotion, Ichigo is rather relieved. Byakuya will not outwardly support him, but they cannot punish him for speaking the undeniable truth

"He _is_ one of our most trusted associates," Byakuya continues, "and invaluable during the most recent war." His words echo in the chambers, carrying the heavy weight of nobility and respect. "One in which he had no obligation to fight."

A few of the former captains who know Ichigo murmur in agreement. The war proves itself in their memories, in the deeper lines on their faces. In the blood that they must surely remember spilling. And Unohana's blue gaze falls briefly on Ichigo, friendly and sorrowful but reminding him of what Aizen had implied.

Byakuya's words, however, are obviously not enough for the skeptical Chamber 46. Most of whom had never even met Ichigo before. And the new captains are even more skeptical, having only heard of Ichigo's exploits. None of them had ever met him personally either.

"A war which is several years past," one of the oldest judges counters, his wrinkled face giving Ichigo vague recollections of Yamamoto. "And since then, we've heard little of him."

A woman shifts in her seat, as if suddenly recounting an important piece of information. Her head nods in agreement with her counterpart. "Did he not, Ukitake-soutaichou, turn down your offer of a captain's position?"

"He was a child," the new captain-commander persists, but even he looks as if he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

More are there to see Ichigo fall than are there to support him. Otherwise, this farce would have never occurred.

"And a human at that," Ukitake adds softly, almost half-heartedly. Like he is too weak to get the words out. Or perhaps too afraid.

For all that Ukitake Jyuushiro had once meant to him, all that he _could've_ meant, Ichigo has never wished him ill like he does now. Has never wanted to scream at him as he does in this moment. Never wanted to strike him. To demand that for once in his life he be firm about _something_.

And a bitter, almost spiteful part of Ichigo wishes that it was this man and not his almost-brother who had died. Kyouraku Shunsui was many things, but a traitor wasn't one of them. He may have been a man of peace and flowered haori, but he would've rather died than to see anyone go through this. He would've been a great captain-commander, just as he was a great friend to a confused and scared boy, who was terrified of failing. He would have never been what Ukitake has become.

But that thought flitters away in the face of what is said next.

"And yet, adult enough to fight in the war. Adult enough to make his decision to raid Seireitei against all odds in order to retrieve a companion," one of the new captains points out, and Ichigo thinks it came from the direction of the thirteenth. He can't be certain.

Sitting back in her chair, her chin balanced on elegantly styled fingers, a woman of Chamber 46 nods in agreement. "Precisely. Nor does that excuse the utter lack of communication. Regardless, his actions are not convincing."

"He wanted to return to a normal life," Ukitake-soutaichou argues, his points not carrying much force. In fact, he looks a bit strained, as though his illness is acting up again. "And I fail to see how that's relevant to this case."

Ichigo, however, has had enough. They have been discussing over his head for the better part of ten minutes. He's seen his actions dissected and put on display. He's had to listen to them decide whether or not he was a traitor, and all he had ever done was fight for them. All his friends had ever done was risk their lives for Seireitei's sake, and now, none of them were the same.

And this is how they show their gratitude.

"He," Ichigo inserts through gritted teeth, cutting through their pointless bickering back and forth, "is standing right the fuck here. Don't just talk about me like I can't hear what you're saying."

Anger blooms brightly one of the old men's faces, stark against the pale-white of his skin. "Quiet, child," he declares with nostrils flaring. "Your belligerence is doing nothing for your case."

Ichigo is having no more of silence. He will not sit here and placidly await their decision. He knows that his words would make no difference because they have already made their choice, long before he was even brought into the chamber. It is merely a formality at this point, a show for the captains who would want otherwise for him. A parody of justice in order to ease their corrupted conscience. He only wishes he could have seen Seireitei for the diseased creature it has become before he helped them destroy Aizen and all chance of a different future.

Ichigo growls, his fingers curling around the cuffs, and the harsh wood and metal bites into his flesh. "Whether I speak or don't doesn't make a difference. Obviously, you guys already had plans before I even stepped into the room."

Deep inside himself, far away, he can feel Zangetsu and Shirosaki agree. It is only a dim flicker, and he hates that it gives him a feeling of loneliness. As though he is standing here, truly abandoned in a place of judgment. His one comfort having been stripped away.

The eighth division captain flicks fingers boredly through the air. "It is that kind of attitude that makes us question your loyalty."

"What do you expect when you imprison someone without any explanation," Ichigo retorts, strangely clam despite the fact his fate hangs in the balance.

Perhaps it is because he has always known it would come to this. He has tried moving on in his existence as a human. He's gone to school; he's dated a few times. He helps his family with the clinic and tries to return to normalcy. All the while, the threat of Seireitei hangs over his head. He knows they watch Ishida and Chad. He is certain they probably watch him. They don't bother with Orihime. Without her powers, she is no threat.

Aizen's words linger in the back of his mind. He had known it was coming, too. Maybe that is why he had sought Ichigo out.

"I am not one of your men. You don't pay me, and I don't work for you," Ichigo adds to their utter astonishment. It is a truth they had always conveniently ignored. "You can't decide my fate for me."

His words spark an immediate response. Several members of Chamber 46 gasp, and low murmurs ripple through the room. He might as well have damned himself with that statement, but Ichigo finds himself hard-pressed to care. They have _allowed_ his existence – their words, not his – since he first came to Soul Society. They think they have the right to determine his life for him. And even if he dies here, he wants them to know that Ichigo was always there because he chose to be, not because they demanded it of him.

Ukitake-taichou looks at him, and his gaze is telling. Those dark eyes are saying that there is nothing more he can do, that Ichigo has dug his own grave. No doubt, he thinks that Ichigo should have bowed to these old fools. That he should have wept and begged for forgiveness, spilled every bit of knowledge he carries about Aizen Sousuke.

But Ichigo is not like Ukitake Jyuushiro. He never was and never will be. He won't allow himself to prostrate before these hypocritical bastards and beg their forgiveness for something he hasn't done.

"What we must do now is clear." A voice emerges above the increasing din, and one man of Chamber 46 rises to his feet. It makes an effective presence as the room immediately quiets, and all attention is diverted his way. "Kurosaki Ichigo's allegiance cannot be determined with the evidence presented. Our choices are limited."

The captain of the third division inclines his head in agreement, for once showing an interest in the proceedings. "He does carry a dangerous power. It cannot go unchecked. Nor can we afford to be wrong."

It seems Ichigo theory is right. It's obvious they've already debated his future and punishment. All that remains is to make it final, to bang the gavel one last time.

The standing judge shifts his attention to the leader of the Gotei forces. "Ukitake-soutaichou, what is the verdict?"

His hands clenching tightly on the arms of his chair, Ukitake forces his fingers to lose their grip and rises to his feet. There is a lack of grace in his movements, as though the years are finally taking their toll. His dark eyes seem empty of emotion, voice robotic and cold.

"For the sake of Soul Society and the ever-important balance, it must be so," he agrees, and an inch of fatigue creeps into his voice. "We are not barbarians, however. And we have learned from our mistakes. Execution is not an option."

"Then, what is it that you suggest?" the official man counters, a certain gleam in his eyes. It is that of victory. He has won, and he knows it.

Ukitake-soutaichou breathes slowly, sweat dotting his forehead, and glances at Ichigo. It is a half-attempt to be apologetic, but it disappears behind the mask of captain-commander all too quickly. Ichigo can't find it in him to be grateful. This man was supposed to be his friend. Would've been his boss and mentor if he'd had his way. Could've been something else entirely had things gone differently.

"Kurosaki Ichigo is to be sealed of his abilities and confined to the Special Underground Detention Facility." It is said in a soft voice, lightness a complete contrast to the harshness of the verdict.

"The Maggot's Nest," the second division captain murmurs, her fingers clacking noisily over the tabletop. It is her jurisdiction, after all.

Ichigo wishes he could feel a bit more disappointed, but it is what he expected. He can't decide if this is better than execution. He'll be alive, but unable to be with this family again. He won't have Zangetsu; he won't see those he cares about. He'll be locked away from the light of day, until they decide he is no longer a threat. He doubts that will ever happen.

The captain-commander's order causes a ripple of mixed feelings in the room. Ichigo feels their reiatsu swell and coalesce as a result. It makes his knees tremble at the onslaught he is unprotected against. His heart thunders in his chest, though on the outside he is an unmovable stone of apathy.

Some appear relieved and proud of the decision. Many are disappointed. Toushirou is the first to rise, a disgusted look on his features, no longer so young. He hadn't spoken during the proceedings, but Ichigo has the feeling he knew it would be pointless. Their eyes briefly meet before he is gone, Matsumoto following behind him just as quickly.

The sound of the door swinging shut behind him is all too telling. The room is filled with murmuring voices, but Ukitake-soutaichou lifts a hand, calling for order. Ichigo can't even recognize him anymore. He's not sure who this man, once a friend to him, really is. The past years have changed him thoroughly.

"Is there anything you wish to say, Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo shakes his head. "You'll not hear me anyway." He looks away then, unable to fight the tightening in his chest. The ache that was once pleasant, almost hopeful. But has now gone bitter.

"Very well." Ukitake sighs faintly and then gestures to the guard. "Return him to his cell. We will carry out the judgment on the morrow."

"Yes, sir."

And just like that, it is over. The attending members of Chamber 46 and the leading men of the Gotei 13 watch as Ichigo is escorted out of the room, their faces careful masks. Ichigo doesn't look at them, doesn't want to look at them, but he does manage to hold his head high. He will not show them a defeated face, even if he feels very much so.

He is returned to the same cell they had kept him in before with little ceremony, locked inside without a word and left to his thoughts. Ichigo moves to the flat cot and lowers himself down onto it, his back against the cold concrete. His wrists ache inside the bindings. His head lightly falls against the wall.

Outside the cell, the door to the room closes with a final click. He's left alone.

Tomorrow it is then. He'll have to feel like this for a very long time. His reiatsu trapped within him, there but out of reach. Zangetsu out of his sight and Shirosaki even farther. He wonders again, just where they placed his zanpakutou.

There is a heavy sense of betrayal lingering around him. The very idea that for all he has done, this is what it gains him. Trust is nonexistent, and for the sake of Soul Society, he must be locked away. Caged like the beast they believe him to be.

He is reminded of the very reasons he had distanced himself from Soul Society in the first place. After the way they treated Ishida and the Vizard, after they had so callously taken Orihime's powers, he couldn't believe in their principles anymore. It bothered him immensely. Yet, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't fix Orihime, and Ishida has since disappeared. Not even the geta-boushi knows where he is.

Urahara-san…

He is one of the few Shinigami who Ichigo did keep in contact with. Probably one of his only real friends. Ichigo borrows the basement from time to time, working out his aggression. And sometimes, they sit and talk. About the war. About before the war. About anything and everything. It is a spark of normality in Ichigo's life. One he cherishes.

He is glad now that he hadn't gone to the shouten for advice, though he had considered it. Urahara-san wouldn't have turned him in, but if Ichigo had gone there, it would have implicated the geta-boushi as well. They have already exiled him, true. But that didn't mean there weren't worse fates. He could have easily found himself in Ichigo's current position. Or even dead.

Ichigo wonders if Urahara-san knows what happened. If he's heard of Ichigo's imprisonment. And then, he snorts to himself, the sound echoing within his cell. Of course, he does. The geta-boushi has spies everywhere. The real question is whether he can do anything about it.

His exile means Urahara-san cannot enter Soul Society on his own. They have certain measures in place to prevent that. And with Yoruichi-san being so scattered lately, there is little chance of obtaining her help. Honestly, neither of them has seen the Shihouin heir in months. Urahara-san says that it wasn't unusual, but Ichigo could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Ichigo wonders if anyone will come save him like he did for Rukia and Orihime so many years ago. He realizes that it is very close to an impossibility. With Ishida missing and Orihime stripped of her powers, neither of them could help. Renji is dead, and Urahara-san can't enter Soul Society.

Aizen, the initial cause behind all the madness, could not come even if he cared. Without reiatsu, there is nothing he can do.

As for Shinigami, Ichigo does not expect much help there. Kenpachi is on lockdown, much like Rukia he imagines. Byakuya will not defy the law, and Toushirou may be disgusted with the outcome, but he will do nothing to stop it. Hanatarou, in his sweet honesty, would probably try. But it is beyond his abilities.

There is no one. And that thought is even more sobering. It is not that Ichigo expects to be repaid for the risks he made to help others. That is by his choice alone. He didn't do it for reward or thanks. It is simply a little depressing to learn that while he could risk everything for them, nothing could be done for himself. That he would sacrifice so much, and those he considered allies – if not friends – would turn away.

It is sobering. Ichigo has resigned himself to his fate. He thinks that he ought to curse Aizen for this. It is his fault, after all. In the end, however, it would serve nothing. Aizen cannot be blamed for Soul Society's fears and hypocrisy. He cannot be blamed for measures that have been put into place long before he was even born. And Ichigo himself can no longer feel angry. There is just an overwhelming sense of apathy.

He should have known.

Closing his eyes, he balances his bound hands on his knees and thinks. He worries about his family – Goat-Face and his sisters. They will not be happy when they find out what has happened. Surely, Urahara-san will tell them. He wishes he could have said goodbye. That he could tell his sisters, that he could warn them. Especially Karin.

He thinks of his body, growing colder and stiffer as it lays on his bed. Perhaps Kon will finally come home and take it upon himself to animate it.

He thinks of his schooling, which he is so close to completing. The paper that still needs to be finished. He'll never become a doctor now. He'll never take over his dad's clinic. Strangely enough, the thought doesn't upset him as much as it should.

The silence surrounding his cell is really bothersome. He's so used to noise and bustle. He knows there's a guard just outside the door, but he doesn't expect conversation. There is a window, but it's still dark outside. The moonlight only offers a small consolation. In that moment, it reminds him a little of Hueco Mundo, where the blackness is brightened only by a single white moon. He thinks that he almost prefers that to this almost paradise full of lies and hypocrites.

But Ichigo sighs at that thought. Tries to chase it from his mind. He simply stares into the near blackness and feels a sharp stab in his chest. The place where his heart once was. And he attempts not to think about betrayal. About might have been and could have been. Should have been.

He doesn't want to think about Ukitake at all. But his thoughts still drift that direction before he can force them away.

It is going to be a very long night.


	5. Allies

Talking to Kurosaki Ichigo is the first risk that he took after the years had passed, and he deemed it sufficient to try again. And that is what it brought him. Now, Aizen Sousuke prepares to take his second biggest risk. He has to. He owes Kurosaki-kun that much. It is his fault that the boy has been taken by the Shinigami.

Standing before the Urahara Shouten, however, Sousuke cannot help feeling uneasy. He is here to ask for help from a man who should hate him, far more than Kurosaki-kun ever had reason to. He is under no illusions that Urahara Kisuke will grant it either. He only hopes that the man will understand the situation and do it for the boy's sake, rather than Sousuke's own. Urahara is his only chance to save his former student. And he hates that he must do this, but do it he will.

Sousuke enters the door quietly, his skills in combat still effective even if his reiatsu is not. He no longer has any spiritual powers, but he can still sense them. The house itself practically trembles with it; reiatsu soaked into the very walls and floor. It is dark within, the candy shop that serves as Urahara's front dim and shadowed. The curtains drawn, "Closed" sign hanging crooked in the window.

He wishes he could tell if anyone else was at home, but there is nothing to be done for that. Steeling himself, he creeps by the displays and heads to the back of the shop. There are voices beyond, a couple of children and an older man. None are Urahara though.

Stepping into the lit hall, he isn't immediately noticed. So far, so good. He creeps by several doorways and unoccupied rooms and spots the aforementioned trio in the kitchen. They don't notice as he slips by and continues further back. He passes a room where a bunch of stuffed animals are moving by themselves and wrestling with one another, voices spilling from their plush mouths.

Rather than stop and stare and try to convince himself he is not seeing things, Sousuke continues. It is better if he doesn't think about it. Who knows what odd experiments Urahara has been performing in his long absence from the strict guidelines of Soul Society.

Sousuke finds his target in a back room, cooling cup of tea abandoned on a desk as he stands before a bookshelf, avidly scanning the contents. A half-filled bag sits lopsided on the floor, its contents spilling onto the floor. Sousuke can't recognize them and doesn't bother trying. He simply stands in the doorway, half in the shadows, and announces his presence.

"Still poisoning others with your tea, Kisuke?" He watches as the shopkeeper freezes and ever-so-slowly turns around, hand falling to his side.

"I don't recall ever giving you permission to use my name," Urahara returns, face a careful mask and eyes shuttered behind the rim of his hat.

Sousuke is trying for nonchalant, effecting a pride he no longer has. "And still as feisty as ever. Nothing changes." He reminds himself that if he infuriates this man, no aid will come to Kurosaki-kun. He can't have that.

Turning to face him entirely, Urahara abandons his search. "How are you still alive?" he demands warily, every movement full of caution.

"A question that can be saved until later," Sousuke redirects as he steps out of the doorway and slides it shut behind him. It is better if Urahara's underlings do not bear witness to this conversation. "For now, there are more important matters to discuss."

Urahara's hand settles near his zanpakutou, sliding comfortably around Benihime's hilt, effectively disguised as the head of a cane. "Why are you here?"

Ah, that is the heart of the matter, isn't it?

Sousuke resists the urge to fidget. He sighs. "As much as it pains me to admit, I require your assistance. A certain acquaintance of ours faces an undesirable fate."

A flurry of emotions crosses the blond's face, and Sousuke is surprised to witness them.

"Ichigo," he murmurs, and his free hand clenches at his side. It is no shocker that Urahara has probably already heard the news himself.

"Precisely."

"Then, it is true. He is siding with you?"

Sousuke shakes his head. "He has not made the choice yet, but I'm optimistic he will soon. Do not worry. Ichigo-kun is not a traitor."

"Don't be so familiar with him either," Urahara retorts sharply, and a swell of reiatsu sweeps through the room, making Sousuke's head spin.

He swallows down a burst of nausea and ignores the sudden wobble in his knees. No doubt the shopkeeper is doing this on purpose. He is too much in control otherwise.

Sousuke bites his tongue. "I apologize," he replies, swallowing down his pride for the moment. He reminds himself that the boy's fate is his fault. "But Kurosaki-kun requires help. And I am unable to provide it."

"Ironically enough." Urahara sneers. "Especially since this rests on your shoulders. What lies have you told him?"

"Only the truth." Sousuke spreads his hands helplessly, hating the bead of sweat that gathers on his brow. The shopkeeper has not let up in his reiatsu, and it is discomfiting. "The same as I will tell you. Don't lie and claim you still believe in Soul Society."

Urahara snorts, and his hand drops from Benihime, likely realizing that with Sousuke the way he is now he doesn't need it to cause damage. He is effectively harmless like this. A Hollow could just as easily take him down as a student from the Academy. Sousuke hates feeling this powerless.

"Don't tell me that you're still trying to become god," Urahara retorts and tips his head a little. His eyes become visible, hard slits of barely restrained anger.

"A little difficult now, don't you think?" He gestures to himself, highlighting the fact that he has no abilities at the moment. "Hasn't it occurred to you that despite knowing it was all my manipulation, they still have not released the exile on you?"

Urahara scoffs, even as realization pours over him. "As if they would ever admit their own mistake." There is a sense of agreement in his tone, however. He is no more enamored of Seireitei than Sousuke is.

"Precisely. And they are about to make yet another one."

"For a man seeking my help, you're not acting like one." In contrast to his earlier wariness, Urahara turns away from him, scooping the half-filled pack off the floor. He sits it on the desk and begins rifling through it, adding other things to the bag.

He exhales softly. "I realize that I am in no position to ask you of any favor, but I had hoped that you would disregard that for the sake of your student."

"And trying to redirect this to Ichigo is not going to help your case either." More odds and ends join the others in the pack, and Sousuke suspects that some of it is not even necessary. "I should have killed you myself. Can't rely on anyone in Soul Society these days, it seems. Useless bastards."

Sousuke grits his teeth. "What would you have of me then? Are you saying that you are not going to help me?"

"Help you?" Urahara snorts and zips up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He stares Sousuke down, geta clacking against the floor. "Hell, no. Help Ichigo? Without a doubt. But you're going to have to do something for me first."

He has expected as much. Sousuke keeps his silence, wondering how far Urahara would want him to go. After all, he ruined this man's life once upon a time. The shopkeeper has every reason to despise him.

Urahara tilts his head to the side, an almost malicious glint to his eyes. "Would it be beneath you to kneel, Aizen Sousuke? Could a former overlord find his knees on the floor? Or was Ichigo merely your pawn, after all?"

He is being tested; that much is obvious. As surely as Urahara bears a grudge towards him, Sousuke is certain that he is also concerned. Kurosaki-kun must be precious to him. Will he be saving his former student and dear friend only to put him in Sousuke's manipulative hands? Those must be his worries.

The remnants of Sousuke's pride immediately balk. He remembers how he once was, lord and master of his domain. Power beyond all imagining, enough to send most of those who opposed him to their knees with just a look. He had been leader of an army, a true threat to Soul Society's existence.

And now, he is nothing more than a regular soul, awaiting reincarnation, his dreams failed pieces around him. He is a man who finds himself being watched by someone who hates him, waiting patiently for his decision. What remains of his pride is effectively trampled, and he knows this is partly what Urahara wants from him.

He is nothing more than a defeated overlord, who finds himself slowly lowering his knees to the floor. Urahara watches him, expression unchanging, until Sousuke can no longer even see his face. The wooden floor, polished and clean, is nonetheless hard beneath his knees. He can smell the polish as he bends low to the ground, hands folded in front of him and fingers touching the cool surface.

"Please," he says. And the last bit of Aizen Sousuke, lord and master of Hueco Mundo, crumples into ash, dying a pathetic and shameful death. "He is in need of your help."

Urahara takes a single step, geta a noisy clack against the floor. "Funny how now it is Ichigo who needs my help and not you."

Benihime comes down with a sharp snap near Sousuke's head, and it takes great effort not to leap in surprise. Urahara would enjoy it if he did.

"There is one more thing you've yet to do," the blond begins.

He wonders how much lower Urahara could possibly want him to go.

There is a brush of fabric against the floor as Urahara crouches, his presence much too close and sizzling with reiatsu. It burns against Sousuke's unprotected senses, like fire ants crawling over his skin.

"Now say, I'm a megalomaniac asshole with delusions of grandeur," Urahara states, and Sousuke swears he can hear the smirk in his voice. "And Urahara Kisuke is both smarter and better than me. Always has been and always will be."

His fingers curl against the floor, a dull scraping sound, and Sousuke bites his tongue against the sharp retort he would rather say. He can't help but think how very juvenile the request is, but he knows better than to comment on that fact. If it is this humiliation that Urahara desires, it is what Sousuke will give him. Though the man should be ashamed for seeking revenge before deciding to help his student.

His tongue feels leaden in his mouth, but he forces it to move anyway. He repeats those words, tasting ashen and bitter. Sousuke reminds himself that it is his own fault he has come to this position. Kurosaki-kun would have never been taken for a traitor were it not for him and his sudden appearance in the boy's life. Especially when all he wants is to forget.

He grits his teeth, and he bears it because this is responsibility to do so. And then, he feels the ache in his knuckles as he clenches his fingers too tightly, the shame difficult to bear.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

Urahara is mocking him. He keeps his silence for fear that anything else will be biting and sarcastic, and Urahara will demand more of him. Oh, how he hates this man. He really does. In this very moment. He has always disliked the quirky ex-captain of the twelfth division, but this brings that distaste to a whole new level.

Something pats him on the head. He suspects it is Urahara's hand.

"Say 'yes, sir.' And we'll call it a day. Hmm?"

He bites his tongue. "Yes, sir," Sousuke grates out, and damn if it isn't one of the hardest things he's been forced to do in his entire life.

Satisfaction ripples through the room, and the press of reiatsu, causing his forehead to bead with sweat, abruptly vanishes. Urahara rises to his feet.

"You're in luck," he says in a bright tone, far too cheery for the humiliation Sousuke has just forced himself to endure. "I was already planning to save my favorite student. He's rather dear to me."

Sousuke's head snaps up, gaze finding the shopkeeper in an instant. "Then, that display?" he demands, voice edging towards a growl as he rises to his feet and dusts off his clothes. All for the sake of appearances. He feels as if he has been cleverly tricked.

His eyes are shaded by that damned, hideous hat. Sousuke can remember clearly seeing that on the battlefield of Karakura, cleaving through his ranks. He can remember his plots being effectively countered by Urahara Kisuke. And he can remember cultivating a steady distaste for the exiled Shinigami.

Urahara emits a noise of disgust. "I'm not you, Sousuke. I don't need a reason to help Ichigo." He shoulders his pack and gestures for his guest to precede him out the door, still not entirely willing to trust him at his back.

Time is of the essence, so Sousuke obeys the wordless command. He slides the door back open and steps into the hallway. Urahara follows him and pauses in the doorway, the grin on his face slightly malicious.

"Besides," he adds, Benihime dangling from the curve of one arm. "It will amuse Shinji to hear it."

Despite himself, Sousuke stalls, the past choosing to flicker through his mind in grainy reels. Like a black and white picture. He sees his former captain grinning at him across the battlefield, sees him standing side by side with Kyouraku Shunsui as they stare him down. Remembers the harsh bite of Shinji's sword and the gurgling echo of his voice behind the white of his mask.

"Shinji? As in Hirako Shinji?" He is stunned into immobility as Urahara attempts to usher Sousuke ahead of him. He does so but only because he is so surprised by the shopkeeper's statement.

"I'm sure you remember your former captain." A sly tone fills Urahara's voice as he urges Sousuke down the corridor, back towards the front of the store. "You betrayed him, too. That's become a bad habit for you, Sousuke."

Sousuke stops in the hallway, turning to regard Urahara curiously. "Why are you going to him?" He tells himself that he is absolutely _not_ concerned for the shopkeeper's plans.

"How else do you honestly expect me to rescue Ichigo?" the blond questions, lifting one brow. "It is impossible for me to enter Soul Society, and you'd be useless once you managed to get there."

For the moment, Sousuke ignores the not-so-subtle jab at his current capabilities. There are more important matters at hand. But he will not forget it. In fact, he plans on returning it in full later.

"You're going to ask them for help."

"I won't need to ask. They'll volunteer." A smile, which is more a knowing smirk than anything else, creeps into Urahara's expression. "They despise Soul Society, and Ichigo is one of their favorite people."

Sousuke, however, cannot help feeling uneasy. The Vizard despise _him_ as much as they hate Soul Society. As much as Urahara hates him. And he admits that he has no love for his former captain. Especially since Shinji was the one to defeat him. That left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knows that Urahara has a point. Neither of them will be of any use in rescuing Kurosaki-kun. The Vizard are their only hope. He simply watches as Urahara steps by him, reiatsu a protective bubble around him, and stops at the door. Sousuke remembers that room as the one where all the stuffed animals are moving on their own.

"Kon, it's time to go," the shopkeeper calls out sternly, voice easily cutting through their banter and loud play.

There is the sound of several squeaks before a stuffed lion appears in the doorway, hands propped on what would be his hips. "Ichigo's always in trouble," he complains, even as Urahara reaches down and picks up the creature. "And we always have to save him," the toy adds with a huff and then seems to notice Sousuke. He releases a half-squawk. "What's he doing here?"

"He," Urahara answers patiently, as though he were talking to a child and not a stuffed creature, "is the reason Ichigo's in trouble again. Kon, you're going to have to look over his body for awhile."

Giving Sousuke a dismissive look, Kon sniffs. "I won't even get a speck of gratitude either. Che. And nee-san's been gone for so long!"

"That's a mod soul," Sousuke states with sudden understanding, finally glad to apply reason to this madness.

"That he is," Urahara agrees and turns to shove Kon into his pack with a faint squeak of the toy's body.

He pops his lion head out immediately, somehow conveying indignation. Urahara ignores him.

"Now," the blond inserts before Kon can comment, "let's get going. It's already going to take time since we can't shunpo."

Sousuke feels a vein in his forehead tick. He really does hate this man.

* * *

A twenty-minute walk later, through the darkened shadows and street lights of Karakura, Sousuke finds himself standing before a very familiar building. One he had just been within a week prior. The lights belonging to the clinic are muted, registering that it's after hours, but the lights within the house are bright and cheery. If he concentrates, he can hear the noise of a TV and the sound of water running in a sink.

It is most definitely not where the Vizard are hiding.

"Why are we here?" Sousuke asks, even as he follows Urahara up the walkway and to the front door.

"Ichigo will need some things," Urahara informs him, even as the stuffed animal leaps out of the pack and drops to the ground with a squeak. "He won't be able to return home when all this is over. Surely, even you can see that."

The implied fact that this is all Sousuke's fault lies unspoken but nevertheless heard. Urahara doesn't need a sword to cut others down. His wit is enough.

"And I suppose you already have somewhere special that you can stash him until all is safe again," he counters, intrigued by the protectiveness that Urahara displays for his student. It goes above and beyond what seems necessary.

The shopkeeper bristles faintly and casts a brief glare over his shoulder before climbing the steps to the front. "Of course, I do. It is the benefit of actual planning. Something you should probably consider," he answers and then lifts a hand to knock on the door, leaving Sousuke to twist his jaw at his back.

How he hates this man.

The door swings open before Urahara can so much as touch knuckles to the painted wood. Kon darts in ahead of them with several squeaks that lose their comedy once Sousuke glimpses the man in the doorway. He is one who Sousuke recognizes. A former captain of Soul Society. Isshin, who is now a Kurosaki but hadn't always been. Back then, he'd been something else. _Someone_ else.

"Isshin," Urahara greets, but he is ignored.

Dark eyes immediately land on the two of them, shifting quickly past Urahara and landing completely on his companion.

"Kisuke, move aside."

There is not a moment of hesitation. "As you wish," the shopkeeper chirps just a bit too cheerily. He moves off the steps and out of Isshin's path.

Sousuke has a minute to look at the man who is Ichigo's father before he finds himself staring up at the sky, a blinding pain in his face. He sees the stars above him, and his head spins. One hand instantly rises to cup over his nose, where blood pours freely. Coughing, he moves into a sitting position and halfway registers that Kurosaki-san is standing over him again, the fury of a parent glimmering in his eyes.

"Aiiro-san!" He recognizes that voice as belonging to one of Ichigo's sisters. The same who had been kind enough to offer him tea and cookies as he waited for her elder brother to return home.

The sound of footsteps announces the arrival of yet another witness. "His name's not Aiiro, Yuzu," Ichigo's other sister states in a flat voice. "It's Aizen. As in Aizen Sousuke."

There is a small gasp of surprise, and Isshin is still standing over him. His face is dark, no trace of the usually playful man in his expression. His hands are curled into dangerous fists at his side, and Sousuke wishes his head would stop spinning long enough for him to form a defense. The former captain hits with a force strong enough to rival Komamura.

The aura of violence around Isshin grows thicker, and for the first time, Sousuke feels the tell-tale ripple of reiatsu from the ex-captain. He is usually so adept at concealing it, but his roaring emotions are fuel to his abilities. And they seek to escape from his human shell, no doubt alarming the more perceptive of his two daughters.

Urahara, perhaps sensing the violent urge to destroy coming from Isshin's direction, hurriedly intercedes. "Mah, I understand wanting to pummel Sousuke, too," he interjects with a faint chuckle. "But we should take this inside. Your neighbors are staring."

Isshin snorts and turns back towards his home, reaching for his daughters and ushering them ahead of him into the house. "Come in before you cause any more problems," he throws over his shoulder, and Sousuke can't shake the last glimpse he gets of Yuzu, disappointment glimmering in her eyes.

"In a minute," Urahara happily calls after the departing family. "I don't think Sousuke can get up so quickly."

The door is left open, and Urahara shifts his gaze back to Sousuke. His head is still spinning, but it's remarkably less dizzying than before. He may actually be able to stand soon. It is then that a cloth is dropped into his lap. He looks up at Urahara.

"I would hate for you to drip on their floors. Yuzu-chan works hard to keep them clean," the man explains, and his smile is anything but welcoming. In fact, it is more like mockery.

Sousuke glares at him, as best he can with what feels like a broken nose. He reluctantly accepts the handkerchief, thankfully black, and pushes it over his bleeding nostrils. With that done, he looks around him and finally spots his glasses within arm's reach to his right. Snatching them up, he replaces them on his face, giving him a chance to see the amused look in Urahara's eyes more clearly. At least, the frame isn't bent.

"You are enjoying this far too much," he remarks, slowly and carefully rising to his feet. It is a bit of a struggle and lacks his usual grace. His head spins at the motion, and he realizes that he will soon be suffering from a headache of epic proportions. And he doubts anyone will be kind enough to offer him an aspirin.

Shadowed eyes narrow pointedly. "If you think that you have suffered enough, you are sorely mistaken," Urahara returns icily as his companion dusts off his clothes with his free hand, removing bits of grass and stone.

"It is a good thing I have not asked for your forgiveness then," Sousuke replies. "Especially since I do not regret it."

"For his sake, I hope that Ichigo sees this side of you quickly."

With that, Urahara turns and enters the house, his geta a sharp click against the walkway and the steps. Left alone outside, Sousuke takes the moment to breathe again, wincing at the pain blooming in his face. Kurosaki had held nothing back, but at least the blood has slowed to a drip. He gingerly presses fingers against the bridge of his nose, relieved to find that it didn't seem broken. Just severely bruised. No doubt it will be quite unattractive tomorrow.

He reminds himself again why he is putting himself through this. The boy's fate is his fault, and without either of them – Kurosaki-kun and Urahara – it would be rather difficult to meet his goals. There is a vow he made more than a century past that he is determined to keep. And finally, he cannot stand the thought that his existence has boiled down to a swift defeat at Seireitei's hands.

Squaring his shoulders, Sousuke wipes away the last few dribbles of blood and composes himself. He folds and tucks the handkerchief into his pocket – to be washed later – and follows the others into the house. Urahara is not kidding about the neighbors. He last glimpses several of them peeking out from their curtains before he pulls the door shut behind him.

He comes face to face with Karin the moment after he slides out of his shoes and steps into the main room. She is several inches shorter than him, but her presence makes up more than enough for the height difference. In fact, she resembles her brother very much, he notices.

Sousuke will not apologize to Urahara. He refuses to let those words pass his lips for the shopkeeper. But to Ichigo's sisters, he is willing to say them. It is obvious that their brother is dear to them, and it is for that reason alone they are angry with Sousuke.

He opens his mouth, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't get a chance to say them. Karin's dark eyes regard him accusingly, and then, her face twists with anger. He doesn't avoid it because he doesn't expect it, only later registers the savage pain in his abdomen as he stumbles against the wall. The Kurosaki family is rather violent, he comments to himself, even as it becomes difficult to breathe.

"If Ichi-nii dies, that's only a taste of what I'll do to you," Karin spits at him, and her juvenile reiatsu curls around her, lashing at his skin. Her body trembles with anger, hands balled up into shaking fists.

"I apologize," Sousuke manages to gasp out, sucking in a stuttering breath. "I did not mean for this to happen."

She hits like a man, not a teenage girl. And harder than her father, he dares estimate.

"I'm sure you didn't," she hisses, and there is more than fury in her voice. There is the beginning hatred, certain to grow stronger if her brother does not come out of this alive. "But that's not enough for me, bastard."

With that, Karin whirls on her heels and stalks away from him, brushing by her sister, who has been watching the events with a startled expression. Sousuke looks at her, and more than the anger her twin is cultivating, Yuzu seems disappointed. Her eyes glimmer at him, as though biting back on tears. And then, she is following after her sister, heading upstairs. The silence is far more telling then Karin's angered words. And the heavy feeling of guilt clenches down on Sousuke's insides.

He has already known that what has happened to Kurosaki-kun is his fault. He is to blame. Their reactions only cement the guilt. He is loathe to admit it, but Urahara is partially correct. This humiliation is hardly sufficient to cover the pain that the boy's family must be enduring. That Kurosaki-kun himself must be suffering.

Rubbing his abdomen, where he is certain a bruise will form later, Sousuke pulls in several shallow breathes. He aches, and his head is still spinning faintly from too much reiatsu all at once. This is what it feels like to be human, he realizes. And oh, how he despises it.

"You stay right there." Isshin's voice pours into his ears before Sousuke even has a chance to step any further into the house. He is still standing in the entryway. "I don't want you in the eyes of my neighbors, but I don't want you in my home either."

Sousuke obeys because it is better to do so and stays standing by the entryway. He can see both Isshin and Urahara from where he is, the former directing his attention to the latter.

"Why did you bring him here?"

Urahara shrugs helplessly in the midst of transferring things from one bag into another. Likely Kurosaki-kun's things that his family prepared for him.

"He came begging to me for help."

Isshin lifts an eyebrow. "He actually cared?"

Rather than allow Urahara to speak for him, Sousuke decides to invite himself into the conversation. "Kurosaki-kun's fate is a direct result of my actions. I take responsibility for them."

Isshin barely spars him a glance, aggression evident in every movement he makes. "Where are you going to take him?"

"Do you honestly want to know?" Urahara counters.

The father grimaces, clearly thinking of the other children he must look after as well. "It is not that I don't want to, but that I shouldn't," he replies with is a sense of defeat in his tone. "I can't do anything for him, can I?"

"Not anymore."

And for a minute, Sousuke thinks he hears something like disappointment in Urahara's tone. He swears that the shopkeeper is giving Isshin a look of disapproval.

"You missed your chance," the blond adds. His eyes are even more shadowed than usual.

Isshin sighs and rakes a heavy hand over his hair, leaving Sousuke to wonder at this strange exchange. He feels it must have something to do with the secret the both of them are keeping from Kurosaki-kun, the truth behind Isshin's origins. He can't understand why they won't tell the boy.

"I thought as much." Dark eyes shift to the window and then to a clock on the wall, and Isshin shakes his head. "You'd better get going, Kisuke. With that baggage, it will take you longer."

It's clear just what he means. The very fact that Sousuke can no longer shunpo is pretty obvious.

Slinging his now bulging sack over his shoulder, Urahara nods. "I'll get him back," he says, and it sounds like a promise.

"You'd better."

It is the last thing Isshin says to them. And he directs nothing to Sousuke. There is a promise in his glance, however. A threat of further violence if his son does not emerge from this fully intact. The same that Karin has already vowed in her own demonstrative fashion.

Sousuke feel his nose and abdomen twitch uneasily. He hates this feeling. If he were half the warrior he was before Soul Society stole his abilities, he would have nothing to fear from them. But as he is now, even Karin's reiatsu is like a lashing, desert wind. And her father's is ten times worse. It leaves him weak and powerless, a feeling that Sousuke despises above all others.

As he steps out of the house after Urahara, the door slamming shut behind them, Sousuke resists the urge to exhale in relief. The whole aura of the household has stressed his senses, and he can barely hide the tremble in his legs. And it doesn't help that he knows their next destination is to the Vizard. They will not appreciate his arrival any more than the Kurosaki family had.

Urahara is ahead of him, noticeably silent considering the events. Sousuke is surprised that he hasn't shifted back into their usual repartee. He can't say that he is disappointed. It is pleasant to not have to defend himself.

Tipping his head back, he glances at the sky, where dawn is creeping across the horizon. The edges are already a pale blue, faint traces of pink slowly sliding in. The stars are fading. They really don't have much time.

"What's this?"

Ahead of him, Urahara draws to a halt, lifting one hand. It takes Sousuke several seconds to realize that it is because a Hell Butterfly is flitting towards them. But it is no normal butterfly. Rather than the typical dark wings, this one is a pure white with only the edges outlined in a dusky black. There are a select few capable of attracting such a creature. Sousuke himself has never seen one with his own eyes, only in books at the Central Library.

He watches as the butterfly lands on Urahara's finger, and the shopkeeper listens to its message intently. His eyes widen in surprise at the contents, jaw nearly dropping before the butterfly flits away, its purpose complete.

His interest piqued, Sousuke steps up beside the other man. "What did it say?"

"Ichigo is safe," Urahara answers as he slowly lowers his hand, fingers tightening around the strap to his pack. "And then, it gave me a meeting time and place where I can pick him up."

Sousuke blinks, certain he heard the other man wrong. "Pick him up?" he repeats, confused by what Urahara seems to be implying.

"He'll be waiting for us. Courtesy of Kouichi."

_Kouichi._

Sousuke's eyes widen at the mention of the name that sends a jab of pain through his heart. This is no trick, he realizes. Soul Society can't possibly know or understand how much this name means to him. How important this person is to his very being, to everything he has done and the man he has become. Only someone who knows him, _knew_ Kouichi, would know to reference that name.

Only someone who has saved Sousuke once before.

"It's not a trap," he says because he can see the suspicion in Urahara's face clearly. "Wherever it said, Kurosaki-kun will be there."

There is a second where it is obvious the blond wants to argue with him. But perhaps there is something in Sousuke's eyes, a look on his face, which causes the shopkeeper to drop his words. He just shakes his head.

"Shinji will be disappointed," is all he says and turns around, taking a different direction than he originally planned. "Let's not keep Ichigo waiting."


	6. Escape

Ichigo wakes from a strange dream to the sound of the doors beyond his cell opening. It is only a faint click to jar him into consciousness. He sits up, trying to clear away the drowsiness and focus on his visitors. His eyes flicker to the window, but it still shows the darkness of night and the occasional pinpoint star. It cannot possibly be time for them to come for him. Unless, of course, Soul Society is ignoring ceremony and trying to take care of him as soon as possible. He won't put it past the bastards.

He looks to the door, but it is only partly open. He can hear the low murmur of a voice but not make out the words. They have paused on the other side, though he is not sure why.

Raking a hand over his face, Ichigo tries to awaken fully. It is hard to return to his senses, especially when everything feels so muted. His reiatsu is still locked within him, giving him a feeling much like having stuffed sinuses. His head doesn't feel exactly clear, and it makes his other senses slow to react. He really hates this feeling.

Unbidden, the strange dream rises to the forefront of his mind. He remembers seeing his mother. Which isn't unusual. He often dreams of his mother, though those are usually nightmares in some shape or form. And those have only gotten worse after the end of the war.

This dream, however, is quite different. He recalls that she was standing somewhere, but he didn't recognize the place. There were a lot of steps, crystal-clear and slowly spiraling downward. They led to an underground pool filled to the brim with pure water, and a raised dais was in the middle with stepping stones leading to it.

His mother was standing there, gesturing to him under a corona of light. She was smiling at him, looking entirely at peace. Her appearance kept shimmering and shifting, almost as if she were not completely whole. And Ichigo himself was walking down the steps towards her, something about the room giving him a quiet sense of calm.

That was when he woke.

It seems so strange. He can't honestly remember dreaming anything like that before. Ichigo's dreams as of late have been more akin to nightmares. Rarely a day goes by that he doesn't somehow recall the war or how it had been before. He remembers those who fell as they were alive. Or he'll relive brutal battles and the blood that stains his own hands.

The door finally swings open to reveal his visitor. And Ichigo gives only a half-interested glance, not even bothering to rise from his cot. Until he sees who it is. Unohana Retsu, of all people, gliding into the room with an interesting expression on her face. She says something to the guard; he closes the door behind her, staying on the other side and granting them their privacy.

Surprised, Ichigo shuffles off the bed, not even noticing when his feet touch cold stone. Just standing is enough to make his head swim with dizziness, still suffering under the effects of the reiatsu dousing he underwent earlier. His body still aches, and there's a definite hollow feeling. But for the moment, he's alive; he supposes that's a saving grace.

"Good morning, Kurosaki-kun, I hope I did not wake you," the captain says, coming to a pause just beyond the bars of his cell. Her smile is light, but it doesn't offer him fake cheer. He is glad for that.

Ichigo shakes his head. "Not from a sleep that meant anything," he replies and regards her curiously. "Is it actually morning?"

"A few hours from dawn." Her gaze flickers over him, and for the first time, he sees a trace of emotion enter her face. There is disappointment there and regret. "You do not look well, Kurosaki-kun."

He doesn't doubt it. With his reiatsu locked away, Ichigo feels quite ill. It's hard to withstand the reiatsu of others that seems to press in on him. It gives him a feeling of vertigo. He knows he is pale, and his lack of good sleep must show in the darkening of his eyes. The strain of having Zangetsu so far from him is not helping.

"I look better than I will in a few hours," he returns, and it is as pleasant as he can offer her. He wishes he could be politer, but he only has a limited time before he will no longer see the sky again. "Why are you here?"

He remembers this woman, remembers her well. In the long year or two that the war lasted, Unohana was of great help to him. It was her who helped teach him how to control his reiatsu. At the time, it was in her best interest as his leaking tendrils tended to harm the other injured when he was being tended in the fourth division. And she also helped prep him for the sneak attack they'd used on Aizen.

Ichigo remembers thinking of her as a friend. As a senpai he could rely on. Of course, once upon a time he had considered Ukitake Jyuushiro one as well. Considered him a hell of a lot more than that truth be told.

Emotions flash in Unohana's blue eyes, and she sighs softly. "Jyuushiro is not the man we once knew," she explains like she read his mind, hands idly patting down the folds of her captain's haori. "Losing what was essentially his father and brother to the war. The weight of his position. The increasing pain of his illness... He is buckling under the pressure, forced to endure it upon himself. And Chamber 46 makes it no easier for him."

"Are you making excuses for him?" Ichigo demands because he has already realized this much. He knows it must be hard for Ukitake; that doesn't make what seems to be a betrayal any easier to bear. He is suffering, too. Just as much.

She shakes her head. "I wouldn't dare. He has made his choices. I simply want you to understand."

"My understanding isn't going to change being pissed off about this." Ichigo has the utmost respect for this woman, but his patience is worn thin. He doesn't feel like bothering with pleasantries or politeness.

"I know that you are aware he hasn't always been this way. Once, he truly was a man who understood honor." She looks at him with knowledge, the kind that aches inside and prays for death. "Once, you were very close."

Ichigo snorts, lifting his shoulders and trying to ease the cramping muscles. "Once," he agrees bitterly, "but not now. I don't know who he is anymore. I'm not sure if I did in the first place. Maybe I really was just a replacement. Just a diversion."

The silence that falls between them is heavy, and Ichigo still isn't sure why Unohana came to visit him. If she sought to reassure him, it isn't working. If she hopes that he will not feel bitter, that is also failing miserably.

Either way, he doesn't care for the topic at hand. And he really, really doesn't want to think about Ukitake right now. Or ever.

His eyes find hers through the bars that separate them. "Why did you come? You never answered my question."

The smile that traces her lips is melancholy. "I am not sure you would understand if I explained it to you."

"I might," Ichigo says, and he remembers what Aizen told him. Or rather, what Aizen's words had implied. "He told me that you saved him," he adds in a much quieter voice, ever mindful of the guards beyond the door.

She inclines her head, shifting in her stance. "I did."

"Why?"

That sadness returns, something old and haunting, something that remembers and never forgets. Ichigo knows this sadness. He feels it every time he recalls his mother's laugh and the gentle way she held him. It reminds him of his inability to save her, as much as it reminds him of his inability to save Renji and all the others. Times when his strength failed him.

There is a grief that lingers inside of Unohana. Ichigo has the feeling that he is one of the few to fully witness it. To ever see her for what she really is. A woman in mourning. Dying from the inside out.

"I know what he is trying to do. And were I more powerful – braver even – I would have helped him. He is a good man; he just lost sight of his goals, became lost in his need for revenge."

"What is it?" Ichigo questions softly now because he feels he has some connection with this kind woman. Some comprehension. "What binds you to him? There's something, isn't there?"

She is silent for a minute, and then, her eyes close as she takes a slow breath, only to open them again. "I would like to tell you a story, Kurosaki-kun. A story of a young man, not unlike yourself."

And Ichigo can only listen.

It is not a long tale, and as she relates it to him, he feels that he garners a better knowledge of the man who came to him, humbly requesting help. And in truth, it is a story that has some similarities to his own.

"It is information few possess," Unohana explains, her voice gentle and controlled, words carefully chosen. "My son, Kouichi, and the fact that he and Sousuke were once playmates as children. Were once friends."

Ichigo blinks in surprise, having been unaware that Unohana even had children. He hasn't really thought of any of the Gotei as having families before. Except maybe for Byakuya's long dead wife. He didn't even know Unohana is married.

"Were?" he finally prompts after that revelation.

She draws in a deep breath, weighted and heavy. "It was Soul Society's decision to execute Kouichi," she tells him in a voice flat and emotionless. "He was a danger, they said. He had delved into things he should not have."

It rings very similar to Ichigo, and he has a feeling he knows where she is going with this. "Hollow abilities, you mean."

She nods, reiatsu flickering as a result of her emotions. Ichigo feels it lashing at the edges of his senses and winces. The lightheadedness returns.

"If I had known what he was doing sooner, I might have been able to stop him," Unohana continues, and her hands clasp together in front of her, delicately twisting as she remembers what surely must be agonizing. "But not even Sousuke knew, and they were closer than brothers."

"And they killed him for that?" Ichigo doesn't really have to ask. He already knows the answer.

"If it were that simple, maybe it would be forgivable," Unohana returns, and the sadness in her tone grows deeper, flickers with something a lot like rage. Cold and deadly. "I can understand their reasoning in that matter… to a certain extent. But I can't forgive their decision to make his family disappear as well."

"What?" Ichigo's eyes widen in shock, an icy blast growing in his chest to spread thickly through his body.

"There is no proof," she explains, fingers clasping together and tightening in their grip. "It wasn't a direct order, but they disappeared anyway. My three grandchildren and their mother." Unohana quiets then, throat too thick to continue and eyes glittering with moisture.

"That's--" Ichigo is horrified, and the anger he has been cultivating finds a deeper hold. It hooks into his very being, fueling a fire that has built since the end of the war.

"Kouichi had not done anything, but it was the Hollow within him they feared," Unohana continues, lifting her gaze back to him. "Just like it is the Hollow within you that they truly fear. You are strong, Ichigo-kun, and they are well-aware that we could not have won the war without you. That it would have ended before it even began."

It should make him feel proud to hear such a compliment; Ichigo only feels apathy. He knows that his efforts were welcomed by most of Soul Society. And that many of them feel grateful for the battles he fought. But none of them know just what effect it had on him. Those battle hardened soldiers… they can't even begin to understand.

Ichigo wishes he could feel shocked by her story. But to learn that Soul Society has betrayed its own long before he's known them is not news to him. They have always been drastic in their choices when it came to their idea of safety and balance. What happened to the Quincy is proof. To Urahara-san and the Vizard.

What they are doing now is undeniable.

He shakes his head and immediately wishes he hadn't; the motion makes his mind spin dizzily. He sways on his feet, and Ichigo shifts to sit back on the bed before he makes a fool of himself by falling on his face. These reiatsu limiters are playing havoc on his system, and his stomach churns. It's so hard to breathe, as though he's suffocating on his own air.

"I knew there had to be a reason," he murmurs, dropping back onto stark cot and leaning his head against the cold concrete. It helps somewhat with the burning that crawls across his skin. "Aizen is too smart for wanting nothing but destruction."

Unohana inclines her head, pity entering her face. "That is true, though I fear he's lost sight of his initial goals. There is much he did that I do not agree with it. I think that in the end, however, what he desired is not wrong."

Swallowing thickly, Ichigo shifts to look at her, wishing the roiling in his abdomen would cease. It's worse than the pulsing within his skull, like a fierce hangover gone wrong.

"You saved him because of your son?"

"Regardless of his deeds, I could not watch him die," Unohana answers; that sad smile returns. A mother's smile. "He is as much my son as Kouichi is."

A sudden knock on the door interrupts their conversation. It is an obvious reminder that the time is up for her visit. Ichigo is honestly surprised they allowed her to see him at all, dangerous criminal that he is.

"It appears my time is over," Unohana comments with a soft exhale. "I thank you for listening to my story, Kurosaki-kun." She looks as though she wants to reach through the bars. Like she wants to take his hand and squeeze. Like she wants to do more than just walk away.

He lifts his own hands helplessly, making the manacles knock together. "Thanks for telling me. It was... enlightening." He feels fatigue pulling at him, trying to drag him under its encompassing net.

The door opens, and a guard sticks his head inside. "Unohana-taichou?"

"I am coming," she calls over her shoulder. She casts one more glance at Ichigo, as though thinking to offer words of comfort, only to realize that such words don't exist.

Unohana just looks at him. Her eyes windows to the agony inside her.

And then, she is gone. The door closes with a quiet snick behind her, and Ichigo is left to his solitude once more. He can't decide which he prefers. The pressure of her reiatsu against him. Or the absolute quiet and stillness of being alone.

He carefully rubs his palms down his face. Yet, it does nothing for the headache rapidly building in his skull. There is a gnawing clench inside of him that he can't ignore.

And a desperate part of Ichigo wishes that morning never comes.

* * *

It seems like it would be difficult for him to sleep with the collar around his neck and the manacles on his wrists, but Ichigo actually finds it easy to drift off again. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he's so tired. As much as they have sealed away his reiatsu, it feels like they've stripped away his energy as well. He's dragged since the judgment, and the more he attempts to stay alert, the less his body supports his determination.

If they want him meek, they have surely accomplished it. He finds it difficult to even stay awake and slips into an awkward doze. At least, it's better than sitting awake and waiting for the time to come. It's better than anticipating his imprisonment.

The next time he opens his eyes, he thinks it's because they have come for him. He is wrong, however, and the hands that shake him into consciousness are actually gentle. A groan escapes his lips as he peels his eyelids all the way open, dizzily trying to focus on the face above his. A very familiar face.

"Unohana-san?" He stirs sluggishly.

Are the sealing cuffs actually getting stronger? He feels more out of it now than he had in the beginning of his imprisonment.

Her hand gently cups his face, warm against the chill of the cell. "We don't have much time, Kurosaki-kun. Can you stand?"

"Maybe." He hates that he can't be surer of that. With her help, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the cot.

"I wish I could remove your limiters," Unohana comments, briefly brushing over the collar. "But I'm afraid if I did, you would be unable to control the reiatsu that would be released and we would be caught. I cannot have that."

"It's okay." His speech slurs just a little, and he rises to his feet like a drunken man, swaying where he stands. But he's pretty relieved that he can at least do that on his own. Even if it makes his head spin and the nausea in his belly churn stronger.

Unohana frowns again, but Ichigo is too busy concentrating on taking his first step. His feet seem heavier than they should, just like the rest of him. It feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton, mouth dry as paste. And he's going to suffer this for the rest of his existence?

It would be kinder just to kill him.

"Unohana-taichou, we must hurry."

Another voice pierces the fog, and Ichigo groggily seeks out the owner of the female tone. He sees another face that is familiar to him, and yet, he remains more confused than ever. What is Ise doing here? And with Unohana?

Not only that, she is carrying a bag in one hand, and a familiar sword is strapped to her back; she barely hunches over from the additional weight. Ichigo feels a great sense of relief ripple through him at the sight of Zangetsu. There, just within his reach if he could manage to move a step.

He doesn't even realize he is already reaching for the blade until Unohana grabs his outstretched hand and slides it over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun, but not just yet. We will return Zangetsu to you soon. I promise."

Ichigo makes a vague sound of agreement and lets Unohana help him out of the cell. His feet drag, as though iron blocks are locked around his ankles, but he forces himself to move. He cannot live with himself if he leans entirely on Unohana, even if she seems unnaturally strong for her size. Like a taller Yachiru really.

He realizes then what hasn't connected in his brain yet. They aren't here to take him to his confinement. They are here to help him, to free him before Chamber 46 can follow through with its plans. The simple thought warms him greatly, helping to chase away some of the slog that his body keeps trying to submit to.

They care enough to come for him; that is all that matters to Ichigo. And though Unohana might be doing it for her dead son and for Aizen who is like a son to her, she is still here. Still risking everything to save Ichigo. He may not know Ise's reasons, though he bets it has something to do with her late captain, but she is there all the same.

All that matter is that they came for him. That they will help him, just as he helped them not so long ago.

They usher him out of the room and through the main door, where Ichigo belatedly notices his guards. He can't tell if they are unconscious or dead, probably the former considering that Unohana is a healer. And Ise, as Ichigo knows, is one of the best at kidoh. She could even give Kyouraku a run for his money, and that really says something. For a supposedly drunken lush, the man sure knew his kidoh. He could do things with spells that would've left Aizen speechless with envy.

His thoughts are redirected as they step out into the early morning, crisp and cool. Enough so that his breath, short and strained it may be, leaves little puffs of white mist in front of him. He can see the pinking of the sky on the horizon, where dawn is coming all too swiftly. And there's a biting wind, cutting through the layers of his clothing.

It feels so damn good to be in the fresh air Ichigo doesn't even care how cold it is. Or that his head is still spinning. He has a frantic hold on Unohana's shihakushou – missing its trademark haori, he belatedly notices – and his knuckles are white from the force of it. But he fears if he lets go, he will fall.

"I apologize," the captain tells him quietly, and it seems that's all she's doing. "But we're going to have to shunpo. It may be a little disorientating."

Ichigo nods; haste is what is necessary at the moment.

"It's fi--"

His words cut off suddenly as Unohana takes a great leap, surprising him with her strength once more. They are into the air and over the side of the railing in an instant, plummeting downwards. His stomach leaps into his throat, and he feels reiatsu crawling across his skin, warm and subtle but nevertheless very discomfiting. He gasps, more from the uncomfortable surge than the unexpected jump.

And then, they are blurring through the air, the wind whipping across Ichigo's face and making it even more difficult to breathe. He can't help but think that Unohana was right. The subtle bursts of her reiatsu are jarring, as is each slide into shunpo. And by the time they finally stop, a good distance away from where he was kept, Ichigo is green and nearly sick to his stomach.

"Ise-san, if you would please," Unohana suggests with a tone displaying extreme calm ,despite the urgency of the situation and the pressure the two of them must be under.

The lieutenant inclines her head, and Ichigo watches as she withdraws her zanpakutou from the sleeve of her shihakushou. It is only the second time he has ever seen her blade, and he can distinctly remember the first being on the field of battle. There is a masked swell of power that Ichigo feels prickling on the edge of his skin, muted compared to Unohana's but still palpable. A Seikaimon opens in front of them, pale light spilling through the doors, and Ichigo worries just a bit.

"Can't these be traced?" he questions, even as the captain hurries them towards it.

"For anyone else they would be." Ise-san pushes her glasses up with a certain gleam that reminds him all too much of Ishida. There is a hint of arrogance in her voice, but it is not unfounded.

"Oh." He's really too dizzy to say anything more intelligent.

Together, the three of them step out of Seireitei and into the gate.

It isn't long before they are emerging onto the darkened streets of Karakura; the sound of barking dogs and garbage trucks as they rattle by greets their ears. It is a bit darker here than it was in Soul Society, as though the sun always strikes the spirit world first. Or perhaps they are simply in a different time zone.

Ichigo feels a smidgeon better now that he's far from that cell and its seki-seki walls. He doesn't have to cling so tightly to Unohana anymore, but he is still overcome by a great fatigue. Unbidden, a yawn fights to the surface.

"Where is the meeting place?" Unohana asks as they pause to get their bearings.

Ichigo himself doesn't quite recognize where they are. Nowhere close to his home or the school, he is sure. Or the Urahara Shouten. In fact, he's not certain they are still in Karakurachou. They might actually be in Naruki-shi. He hasn't been there much except for the occasional visit to Keigo or Mizuiro's house, neither of whom he has seen lately.

His knees buckle a little. Unohana easily shifts his weight, casting him an apologetic look.

"Just a little longer, Kurosaki-kun. And then, you will be able to rest."

"Why did you do this?" he wonders aloud as Ise whips out a map to consult. "Why help me?"

"It is the right thing to do," comes the answer, but it's actually Ise who says it. She is looking at Ichigo now, and there is grief still fresh and bleeding in her eyes. "And it is what _he_ would have done."

It goes without saying that she means her former captain. Kyouraku Shunsui. Probably one of the few men in Seireitei who was ever worth a damn.

But then, Unohana squeezes his arm warmly. "We cannot do much," she murmurs apologetically, as though she wishes she were capable of more. "Yet, we do what we can."

There is a snap as Ise closes the map and stashes it up her sleeve, where her zanpakutou has already returned. "It's only a short distance from here. We are close."

"Then let us make haste," Unohana suggests.

Before Ichigo can question either of them further, such as to their actual destination, they are all three sliding into shunpo. It makes his head spin worse than before, and Ichigo groans, wishing they really wouldn't do that. Or would at least knock him out first. His wrists ache inside the manacles, and the collar still makes it difficult to breathe. He knows the reason they haven't removed it yet, however. He understands that much.

Several steps from their previous position, an actual distance that is easily crossed using shunpo, they come to a rest in front of the entrance to a small park. It is not much, but it is fenced in and the walkways are dimly lit. In the cold morning, it seems even more serene. And there are few, if any, people present.

"I've arranged for them to arrive in ten minutes. He won't be alone long," Ise explains.

They step into the park, unnoticed by a man walking his dog that they pass. The canine though seems to sense their presence, the ruff on the back of her neck rising as she growls. The two Shinigami and their charge keep walking like they don't even care. Ichigo's strength has reached its limits. He is relieved when they finally let him rest on a bench, and he slumps against the cool metal. His entire body is hot, despite the chill to the air. And he wonders if the reiatsu sealers are making him ill. His eyes flutter, and he misses Ise removing Zangetsu from his ties, laying the zanpakutou next to him.

He can hear Zangetsu calling to him, sounding even louder than he has in the past half-day or however long it has been. Shirosaki is louder, too, and he's fighting bitterly against the cage that holds him back. He is ranting and railing, dark eyes gleaming with fury. Zangetsu is more restrained, hands folded into his coat as always. Patiently waiting. But there is an anger cloaking him as well, an icy fury that wishes to be unleashed.

They want him to take hold.

Unconsciously, Ichigo's fingers reach for the blade, but Unohana's hands grasp his first.

"Not yet, Kurosaki-kun. Please bear with it awhile longer," she informs him, squeezing gently and pushing his hand back towards his lap.

"Why are we here?" he questions, and it feels like the words are being dragged from him. He's so tired.

"Someone you know will be here very soon," Ise assures him, and for the first time, he sees a crack in her business-like exterior. He isn't sure what to call the glimpse he manages, but there does seem to be a sense of relief.

Ichigo feels like going to sleep again, and his eyes flutter once more. Dawn is coming faster now. He can see the sky lightening; he can hear the town waking around him.

"We have to leave you now," Unohana inserts she squeezes his hand warmly once more, drawing his wavering focus back to her. "Please forgive us." She very gently brushes his hair from his face. The gesture is so familiar – so motherly – that he would ache at it if he weren't so very tired.

"For what?" he thinks aloud since it is they who have saved him. And they weren't the ones to condemn him in the first place.

The two women exchange a glance, but it is Unohana who answers him again.

"For being too weak to do anything sooner." Her fingers linger on his cheek. "Stay safe, Kurosaki-kun."

He almost swears that he feels the feather-light touch of lips against his forehead.

Then, she is withdrawing the warmth of her hands, and the two of them are walking away. There is a faint taste of reiatsu in the air, pushing gently against his skin as they prepare to call another Seikaimon.

It occurs to Ichigo, despite his flickering conscious, that there is something important he's yet to say. "Thank you," he manages, raising his voice enough that it carries to them. "For everything."

It seems a paltry phrase. And hardly enough to cover the sacrifice and the risk they have taken for him. But he can't focus well enough to think of something more appropriate.

The last he sees of the women are two appreciative but sorrowful smiles. Then, they are vanishing into the gate, returning to their existence in Soul Society. He is left alone on the park bench, slipping towards unconscious once more. The ossan and Shirosaki call to him, but he's too tired to answer right now.

Hands are on him not but a few minutes later, gently shaking him awake. They then slide around his upper arms to his back, face pressed into a clothed shoulder as fingers steady his head. Ichigo forces his eyes to peel open, seeing only a sea of green before shifting to glimpse a very familiar hat. The scent of sugarcane and smoke fills his nostrils, even as a recognizable voice filters through his conscious. There is an immediate sense of safety, and some part of Ichigo breaks inside. He can't help the tears that come.

"Urahara?"


	7. Rescue

At first sight of his friend and student, Kisuke feels something inside him give a worried tumble. A faint flutter that he doesn't dare immediately identify. The anger he has been experiencing flares at the sight of the cuffs and the collar, even if rationality dictates that he shouldn't remove them just yet. Though his every instinct wants him to do so.

He forgets about Aizen's presence in that moment and moves quickly to Ichigo's side. For all appearances, he seems asleep, though his rest is troubled. He finds his arms curling around him, pulling Ichigo into an embrace he is unable to stop. Infinitely relieved that his student is no longer in immediate danger.

"Ichigo?"

He cups Ichigo's cheek, hating how cold the other boy – no, Ichigo is very much a man now – feels. It must be due to the reiatsu inhibitors because he hasn't been here that long.

The Vizard stirs, eyes fluttering weakly. "Urahara?" he questions and voice thick and drowsy. Weak.

The anger burns a little brighter.

He opens his mouth to answer, but Ichigo is already slipping back into unconscious. Kisuke needs to get those restraints off of him. And the sooner, the better.

"Is he well?"

Aizen's voice makes him grit his teeth in annoyance, and he doesn't bother to glance back at the traitor. He asks himself again why he's allowed Aizen to tag along. Like before, Kisuke really doesn't have an answer. His concern is for Ichigo alone. He'll deal with Aizen's presence later.

"He'll be fine," Kisuke answers mostly to forestall any further questioning.

He slips his bag off his shoulder, sliding it onto the bench. He considers logistics and wonders how best to carry both Ichigo and Zangetsu without resorting to Aizen's aid. Kisuke would rather chop off his own fingers than allow Aizen to touch his friend. He knows that he can't stand here too long. Soul Society won't be long in realizing that their "dangerous criminal" has escaped.

Aizen takes a step forward, shoes crunching over the half-dead grass. "We can't linger," he reminds Kisuke, and there is an inch of condescension in his tone.

"I know," the blond replies through gritted teeth, reminding himself that he doesn't have time to strangle Aizen and leave him for dead. There are more important matters at hand.

"We'll have to carry him."

"Thank you, Obvious-taichou," Kisuke retorts with a glare over his shoulder and punctuates it with an unconscious rise of his reiatsu. "Don't you even think about touching him."

Aizen lifts one brow. "I suppose I should leave that honor to you then. How nice that Kurosaki-kun has a teacher who would make so many sacrifices for him."

He is sure there is an insult somewhere in that thinly disguised compliment. And as soon as Kisuke gets a chance, he's going to find it and pay Aizen back tenfold.

"You can carry the supplies," Kisuke replies instead and gives a teeth-baring grin towards the former overlord. "If you can manage that much."

Aizen's tone is perfectly bland. "Yes, master," he retorts, moving around and reaching for the dropped bags. "However I may serve you."

Kisuke's glare is utterly ineffective, just as much as Aizen's condescension does nothing but make him angry. But there is no time for their power games. Ichigo is growing colder by the minute, and he needs to get him somewhere safe. The longer he stays locked within those manacles, the harder it will be to remove them later.

Drawing together his resolve, and casting aside the chance for more banter, Kisuke focuses on Ichigo. The Vizard looks a little thinner than usual – how has he not noticed this in their visits – and shouldn't be too difficult to carry. Zangetsu is the issue here. It would be much simpler if Ichigo could just seal that massive blade, but it is also useless to lament that fact. Nor can he have Ichigo and his zanpakutou touch. The outpouring of reiatsu that would result from sword and master trying to reach one another would alert every Shinigami on the continent and no doubt send Kurotsuchi's equipment off the scales.

As much as he hates it, he will require Aizen to carry Zangetsu. Unfortunately, the former overlord can't touch it with his bare hands.

"You _are_ useless," Kisuke mutters under his breath because it's Aizen's fault that this has become so complicated.

He grabs one of the bags that Aizen hasn't yet and digs through it, producing one of his special cloaks, reiatsu-concealing and all. With that, he affects a sort of sling, wrapping it firmly around Zangetsu. At his touch, the blade gives a faint little hum of recognition, and the blond smiles just a bit. It is nice to be recognized.

Turning, Kisuke gestures towards Aizen with the blade. "Take it," he orders and holds the wrapped handle in his direction. "I've no choice but to let you carry Zangetsu."

"Why don't you just stamp it as delicate and call it a day?" Aizen returns, taking the heavy zanpakutou with great care, ensuring that he didn't actually touch the blade with any part of his body.

Kisuke glares at him, the urge to just kill the man and get it over with striking him again. Really, he has never thought of himself as homicidal before, but somehow, Aizen brings that out in him.

Twisting his jaw, Kisuke turns away and moves back towards Ichigo. He decides it will be easier to carry the Vizard on his back, and with some great maneuvering on his part, he manages to get Ichigo off the bench. In the process, he knocks his hat from his head, and it drops to the wet grass, rolling a foot or so away.

Kisuke curses under his breath, shifting Ichigo's weight. He drapes the man's arms over his shoulder and grasps Ichigo's thighs firmly, ensuring that they are situated properly. He is heavy but not enough that Kisuke can't bear it. He is more worried by the faint trembles that wrack Ichigo's body.

And his hat is still lying on the ground. He stares at the striped fabric, willing it to return to its proper placement. There is no way he can kneel and pick the damn thing back up.

There is a crunch of feet over grass before he sees Aizen reach down, his glasses gleaming in the half-light of morning. He picks the hat up with a faint twirl over his fingers and places it back on Kisuke's head somewhat crookedly.

"Kurosaki-kun might not recognize you without it," he comments, and there is a snide edge to his voice. His eyes are completely unreadable, light reflecting off his glasses completely hiding them.

It is against Kisuke's principle to thank Aizen for anything. So he doesn't.

"Grab the other bag," he mutters as he moves by the former overlord, shifting Ichigo's weight against his back until he is settled evenly. "It's time to get out of here."

Aizen doesn't respond, but his smile doesn't fade either. He simply does as Kisuke asks, slinging one strap over his shoulder and curling his fingers around the handles of the other bag. Zangetsu is balanced against a free shoulder like a soldier in some marching parade.

Kisuke tries not to think about how much of a bad idea this really is. He probably should abandon Aizen, take Ichigo and disappear. He could always come back for the rest. And he wonders why he doesn't just do so. He balks at leaving Zangetsu behind. And the logical part of him doesn't want Aizen running around on his own. Who knows that the man is capable of, with or without his powers?

The following trip is made in silence, short and awkward. There is an evident tension between them, and it makes Kisuke feel on alert. As if he expects any moment to get a knife in his back. Aizen's assessing gaze is discomfiting, and had he not had Ichigo to worry for, Kisuke would have done something about it. He merely squares his jaw, counts every warm breath against his ear, and catalogues every twitch of Ichigo's body.

The safehouse has never seemed so far away.

In all rationality, it is not so far from the park. He doesn't know how their unidentified benefactors seemed to pick the perfect location coincidentally, but he is glad they did. While it is only a hop, skip, and a shunpo away from Karakura, there is no better place to hide. Soul Society will expect him to leave Karakura. Hell, probably even Japan. They won't expect him to stay right under their noses.

The neighborhood is pleasant, full of houses that were just waking for the morning. Kids getting ready for school; some parents rushing out with briefcases and coffee in hand. A bus passes by with only a few passengers. It is still too early for anyone to pay much attention to them, despite their strange appearances. Kisuke hunching over for no apparent reason, Aizen holding some invisible wrapped object.

They make it to the safehouse – little more than a bungalow with a few main rooms, two bedrooms and a private bath – without incident. There is a shiver of some spiritual power as Kisuke crosses the threshold, but it is not unfamiliar to him. Tessai erected the invisible shield a long time before, blanketing everything within the boundaries and making it invisible to Seireitei's scopes. Thanks to him, all Soul Society will ever see is an empty house.

Stepping inside, Kisuke makes a beeline for the bedrooms on the end of the large hall. Aizen walks in behind him, struggling a bit with the bags, but Kisuke barely spares him a second of attention. Once inside, he shoves the door shut with the back of his foot, deterring Aizen from entering. Though he doubts the former lord will. He knows just as well as Kisuke does the consequences of removing reiatsu limiters.

There is a short struggle as Kisuke lowers Ichigo to the bed without causing him injury. The man groans quietly, his head tipping to the side as he stirs. Kisuke carefully moves him into the center of the bed where he will be more comfortable. Slipping off his geta and setting his hat to the side, he ponders the manacles. They will be the first to go, he tells himself, and sets about picking the lock. An easy enough task considering his prior experience as a jailer.

The manacles hit the floor with a dull thud and rattle, and Kisuke all too happily kicks them away from his feet, pushing them towards the door. He doesn't want Ichigo to ever have to see them again. There is a small flutter of reiatsu after he takes off the cuffs, but it will be nothing like what will happen when he removes the collar.

Taking a breath, the blond reaches for the deceptively fragile band, his fingers easily undoing the clasps that hold it in place. It's a simple matter of knowing how, and Kisuke recalls all too easily from his years in the second division. There is a click as the last latch falls open, and Ichigo twitches, a groan escaping his lips.

There's a feeling of power in the air, swelling and growing, gathering with increasing speed. Kisuke feels the sweat gather on his brow, and he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his lungs protest mightily. He tells himself that his hands aren't shaking as he slides the collar from around Ichigo's neck, tossing it to the floor behind him.

For a moment, absolutely nothing happens. The world hangs flat, the air so still that it's difficult to breathe. Ichigo's body twitches again, moves like a fish under the surface of the water. And then, his eyes flare open. They are nothing but pure silver, almost gleaming.

That faint sense of power from before becomes a maelstrom, and it's all coming from Ichigo. He sucks in a terrible, gasping breath, and Ichigo's entire body heaves as though he's in great pain. Kisuke knows that he must be. The force of his whole being descending back onto him again, Zangetsu and Shirosaki returning in full power.

Biting his own lip, Kisuke grabs Ichigo's arms and presses him back to the bed, feeling familiar reiatsu lashing at his own skin. Kisuke grabs the tendrils of his own power, wraps it around him like a cloak as protection against the violent strands, and tries to blanket another layer over his student's body. Ichigo is gasping for breath, his own arms rising up and grabbing onto those above him. His fingers clench so tightly that they are digging into Kisuke's muscles, but he doesn't dare let go.

Eyes, usually a soft brown, shift in color frantically. Gold to silver to black to brown to gold again. Over and over, his reiatsu a visible maelstrom of black and red and blue around him. So many colors that they burn against Kisuke's eyes.

"Ichigo," he grits out because it's just a bit painful, and it burns that he can't handle this. He should be stronger than his own damn student. "Dammit, Ichigo. Get it under control!"

"Can't!" Ichigo gasps out, and there is a growl deep in his chest, full of so much agony that Kisuke feels the urge to take Benihime and storm into Soul Society, to slash down every last one of those who did this to him.

He hopes that Aizen – who must be waiting just outside the door – feels the full force of this backlash and it makes him sick. Makes him so goddamn ill that he can't even breathe. It's as much his fault as it is Soul Society. And Kisuke hates the truth that a part of this, even in some small way, might be his fault as well. He is the one who gave Ichigo these powers, who brought the Hollow within him out. And Kisuke hates it.

His fingers are digging into Ichigo's shoulders with as much strength as Ichigo's hold on him now, and he knows they'll share bruises later. The both of them are too strong not to. Kisuke grits his teeth so hard that they screech and desperately tries to focus. He needs to sharpen his own reiatsu, to layer it over Ichigo's and help him take control.

Kisuke leans closer to Ichigo, trying to catch the boy's flickering gaze. To find the determination and resolve he knows is beneath.

"You can," he returns fiercely, finally capturing a glimmer of that beautiful brown. "Do it!"

"Auugh!" Ichigo's scream is a terrible rending of sound, and his reiatsu careens into the room. Sending every picture on the walls crashing to the floor and bursting every breakable object within, what few there are. Glass and ceramic shatter.

Kisuke thanks kami that he shielded this building. If he hadn't, that eruption of reiatsu would have alerted anyone within a hundred mile radius of their location.

He's bitten his lip bloody, and Ichigo's body is curling into itself, shaking roughly. Kisuke doesn't lose his grip, putting as much calm and focus into his reiatsu as he possibly can. He uses his familiarity with Ichigo as a lifeline; his knowledge of the boy he trained as a possible means of clarity.

Their foreheads touch briefly as Ichigo's body gives one last frantic flail. And then, as abruptly as it began, the vortex of power swirls inwards. Like being pulled into a black hole of nonexistence. The lashing tendrils of reiatsu draw back towards Ichigo's body, agonizingly slow, binding back into the confines of his own form. Ichigo flinches, but his eyes settle from their frightening gold and back into a honey-brown. And Kisuke thinks that the worst is over finally.

His entire body is covered in sweat, heart pounding a thousand miles a minute. Kisuke realizes a bit late that he is shaking, and there is a stark sense of fear inside of him. Not for himself but for Ichigo.

The Vizard is already slipping into unconsciousness, his deathlike gripping easing as he collapses back onto the bed, pale and damp with sweat. Kisuke draws in a heavy, tremulous breath and looses the vise his fingers have become. It almost hurts to do so, and he gently releases Ichigo, laying his forehead against the man's shoulder for just a moment. An immense feeling of relief sweeps through him, even as his body feels entirely drained. This would have been a lot easier if he'd had a little help to contain the release.

As his heart begins to slow to a more normal rhythm, Kisuke finally pulls back and forces his weary body against the bed. Ichigo looks dead to the world, collapsed against the pale of the sheets. His clothes are sweat-soaked and surely uncomfortable, and fearing that his student will get sick, Kisuke set to the arduous task of making him more comfortable.

Eyes politely averted to the best of his ability, Kisuke efficiently strips Ichigo of his dirtied clothes and redresses him in a plain yukata. Ichigo doesn't even stir, barely makes a noise, his reiatsu simmering quietly beneath the surface. Still, it won't be enough. He needs to get something to wipe off the sweat. It's likely that Ichigo won't wake for a few days, and it will be discomfiting to rest in sticky skin.

Gathering up the soiled clothes, Kisuke steps out of the room and closes the door quietly behind him, wanting nothing more than to collapse in a bed. He hates that there's only one other in this small apartment, having not anticipated Aizen's presence, and he's sure as shit not going to let Aizen share with Ichigo. No telling what the man might do to Ichigo in his sleep.

"How is he doing?"

To Kisuke's credit, he doesn't jump three feet in the air at the abrupt invasion of his thoughts. He turns and glares at the former captain, who is walking down the hallway towards him, likely having heard the door open. Kisuke feels rather smug when he sees that Aizen didn't weather that outburst very well. He's pale and just a bit shaken, though he hides it behind his usual composure.

Letting out a slow and steady breath, Kisuke drags a hand over his hair, fingers catching on tangled and sweaty strands. "Are you asking because you care or because your ticket to Soul Society might be a little rumpled?" he demands. Now that Ichigo is on the path to recovery, Kisuke can return all the snide comments he kept himself from making earlier.

Aizen doesn't miss a beat, returning his gaze evenly. Which is rather unnerving with the strange gleam his glasses tend to reflect.

"Are you his father or his lover?"

The shopkeeper blinks, the question both unexpected and unrelated to his previous accusation. Before he can even think of a proper response, Aizen continues, a small smile sliding onto his lips.

"Or maybe it's that you've turned into the former but would prefer to be the latter?"

A low growl develops in Kisuke's throat at the accusation, but he fights it down. "Yes, Ichigo will be fine. Thank you for caring," he retorts snidely and turns down the hall towards the one bathroom.

The light is flicked on with his elbow, and he dumps the dirty laundry into a basket, hearing the sounds of Aizen's footsteps behind him. As Kisuke digs for a washcloth and a small bowl, he continues.

"And Ichigo is my student and my friend," he adds, successfully procuring both and setting about at filling the bowl with warm water. "There is nothing more to it."

The small room echoes with the sound of the tap.

Aizen makes a derisive snort behind him. "Ah, but I am not blind, Urahara. You're more than friends in some way."

"And that's no business of yours," Kisuke counters snarkily, cutting off the water and squeezing excess out of the cloth. He grabs both – bowl and cloth – and heads out of the bathroom, sidestepping Aizen.

It's back into the bedroom for him as Aizen trails along behind like some sort of dog sniffing out an interesting trail to follow. It isn't enough that he's caused this entire debacle. Now, he has to make circumstances difficult by insinuating things that just aren't true. It's irksome, just like his personality.

Kisuke grits his teeth.

"Attempting to shift my focus is not an effective means of dissuading my interest."

"And satisfying your curiosity is the last thing on my mind right now," the blonde retorts, quieting his voice as he moves into the room. He doesn't want to wake his sleeping pupil.

It is no small relief that Aizen pauses in the doorway, as if to recognize he would not be allowed any further. Within, Ichigo hasn't moved, still collapsed tiredly against the bed. Kisuke isn't sure if that is a good thing or not. Sometimes with Ichigo, it is so hard to know what is acceptable and what isn't with his strange composition.

He sets the bowl on the floor and sits on the edge of the futon, dipping the cloth into the water. It is a gentle touch – one he often used with Ururu – that carefully swipes over Ichigo's face and neck, removing the sticky layer of sweat. His chest is next. Then his arms. And the silence in the room is almost stifling, filled only with the soft sound of breathing and the drip of water.

"Why didn't you leave me behind?" Aizen suddenly asks, startling Kisuke out of his thoughtful reverie. "You had every capability to do so."

Funny how he has asked himself the same thing.

Kisuke gingerly rubs the washcloth over Ichigo one final time before deciding it is enough. "It would have been inconvenient to be tracked down again," he explains as he tosses the cloth back into the water and rises to his feet with a small squeak of the floor.

"Or maybe you hate Soul Society as much as I do," Aizen states, lifting one hand to flick it through his loose hair. "You need me to reach my goals."

Kisuke glares as he grabs the bowl and heads to the door, moving by Aizen. He glances at Aizen's face, smirking to himself.

"You might want to get some ice for your face, Sou-kun," he replies snidely. "You're looking a little swollen there."

He steps into the hall, turning back towards the bathroom. Aizen follows him, his steps quiet wisps of sock over polished wood.

"Does he know about your little crush?"

For a moment, Kisuke feels something inside him skip a beat. He doesn't show his reaction, however, and ignores the accusation. He is above childish banter. If Aizen chooses to misinterpret his care for Ichigo, than that is Aizen's problem. Not his own.

"I don't suppose you would tell him," Aizen continues, perhaps sensing he had stumbled upon a weakness. "It is a safer bet to deny and run, is it not?"

Again, Kisuke is sure that there is an implication there. Only, he's not certain just what Aizen is attempting to hint. Ichigo is precious to him… yes, that is true. And he feels a certain measure of responsibility for the boy. Ichigo is both his student and a dear friend but nothing more.

There is a splash as he dumps the water into the sink and sets it to the side. The cloth is tossed into the hamper, falling with a wet thud. Kisuke makes a mental note that groceries and other essentials will eventually have to be obtained. But later. Right now, he is too tired for it.

Aizen is still standing there, watching him, forming his own conclusions in his head. He looks nothing like the man who begged for his help not but a few hours before. And Kisuke can't help but savor that particular image, wishing he could witness it again. The great overlord on his knees in supplication. It is only a small dab of salve to his shattered existence, dealt the initial blow by Aizen's manipulations.

He pauses in the doorway of the bathroom, one hand on the light switch in preparation to flick it off. "Do you speak just to hear yourself talk? I'd have thought your defeat would have dampened some of that arrogance."

The skin around Aizen's eyes tightens as his lips thin, displeased at being reminded of the results of his bid for godhood. "Your petty insults will not drive me away, Urahara. I am not so easily beaten."

"Could have fooled me." He lets the smirk slide off his face as he steps into the hallway, his bare feet less impressive than the solid and familiar clack of his geta. It puts him at a slight height disadvantage to Aizen, too. "I won't let you manipulate him. He is not a toy for your amusement. This is not happening again."

And by this, he means the debacle with Soul Society. If Ichigo had just talked to him, if Kisuke had just known, he would have killed Aizen himself. He would have spared them all this drama and trouble and saved Ichigo the suffering at the hands of Seireitei's finest. Or what is left of them if he wants to be more accurate.

Aizen's lips pull into a slow, sliding smile. "Are you worried that your position at his side might be taken before your eyes?"

"Hardly," Kisuke snorts. As if he has a designated position at Ichigo's side anyway. He is mentor, and he is friend. Occasional supplier of Shinigami-related merchandise. He has no special place at the Vizard's side other than the obvious.

He wonders why the thought depresses him.

"Kurosaki-kun is not an idiot," Aizen continues as Kisuke pokes his head into the kitchen, noting that the bags have been deposited there along with Zangetsu, faintly resembling an incredibly large kitchen knife as it lays on the table. "If he does not want to do something, he won't. I cannot lead him into anything."

Once, Kisuke might have believed that. There are many he would have thought were incapable of being misguided. Until he learned of Aizen and his treachery. He doesn't trust Aizen for a single, solitary instant.

"And you didn't need your powers to trick everyone," he counters, bitterness from a century prior still proving its strength. "Your whole existence is an illusion, a lie, every word masking your real intentions."

He moves to the table, carefully unraveling the cloth from around Zangetsu, the blade thrumming again as he brushes his fingers across the silver and black. Ichigo will want his zanpakutou when he wakes. And it will probably ease his sleep to have something so familiar beside him.

"What? Still angry that you couldn't see through me, even back then?" Aizen goads, tapping his fingers against the door. "Should it be my fault your skills were not up to the task?"

Gray-green eyes flash with anger, and Kisuke curses himself for letting that emotion slip. His self-imposed guilt for that incident is still fresh on his heart, even after a century. His inability to save them. His order that sent Hiyori to her doom. His failure in recognizing Aizen's double face. Kisuke will never forgive himself.

"Of course not," the blonde returns bitingly, a scathing glance thrown over one shoulder. "Treacherous snakes are too skilled at hiding their true colors. But don't worry; I'll be sure to let Ichigo know. Shinji happens to be close to him."

The smile he gives is full of malice. What he wouldn't give to enact a little vengeance. Not just for himself but also for those exiled, those whose lives were ruined by Aizen's plot. Those same Vizard who are still suffering even now, though the truth of the matter had long been resolved. After all, they were not Shinigami. They were still _monsters_.

His fingers curled around Zangetsu's hilt, Kisuke grasps the zanpakutou and lifts it off the table. He steps passed Aizen, taking great pains not to touch the man in the close confines of the doorway.

Behind him, Aizen hums thoughtfully. "Ah, yes... my former captain. It doesn't surprise me that he would take to the boy. He does so love his pet projects. Loves taking in strays. Muguruma. Aizawa. That little girl. What was her name?"

Condescension fills his tone, and it boils in Kisuke's blood. He pauses in the corridor, fingers white-knuckled around Zangetsu's hilt.

"You damn well know her name," he hisses sharply. "And do not think for a minute that Hiyori won't gut you herself." Despite her less than inviting personality, Hiyori really is fond of Ichigo, too. She also holds a great grudge against Aizen.

It is a win-win situation for Kisuke. Really, it is.

"Undoubtedly," the traitor returns, voice as coolly calm as always. "She can and will certainly try. Though I do not believe she will be successful. Kurosaki-kun wouldn't allow it."

Like hell Aizen knows Ichigo well enough to guess his reaction to anything. He's not once bled beside the boy. Not once patched him back together. Hasn't faced his determination to become stronger despite the risks. Hasn't seen the grief and pain in his eyes. Aizen could never claim the same familiarity, and it bothers him that Aizen is attempting to at all.

"You'd be surprised what he'll allow," Kisuke retorts, his quiet but clipped steps taking him back towards the bedroom. Zangetsu thrums louder the closer he gets to Ichigo's resting form.

"Oh? And will that be on your recommendation? We all know just how much he trusts you. And how that trust is misplaced."

That right there is a subtle jab at the guilt that Kisuke already knows he must bear. The blame that he has already told himself to accept. He doesn't need Aizen pointing it out for him. He owes Ichigo a large debt, one he isn't sure he could ever repay.

"Believe what you will. That doesn't make it any truer." Kisuke halts in the doorway, unwilling to raise his voice inside the room where it could possibly wake Ichigo. "I'm just going to get through this night. Have Ichigo recover--"

"And then what, Urahara?" Aizen is uncomfortably near to him, accusations and insinuations stronger and heavier. "A life on the run for your precious boy? Giving up your shop, what few friends you have, to spend the rest of your days with him. Forever looking over your shoulder."

This Kisuke has an answer for. This he can answer without any hesitation, without a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"If I have to do so, then yes," he replies, meeting Aizen's gaze evenly. "Ichigo is worth it. He would do the same for me." In a heartbeat, there is no doubt in Kisuke's mind.

"I am certain he would."

It isn't capitulation, and Kisuke would hardly call it agreement.

He watches Aizen for a moment more before he steps into the room, daring Aizen to move beyond the threshold. The former overlord maintains his position outside the door, watching as Kisuke carefully leans Zangetsu against the wall near the futon but within instant reach if Ichigo desires it.

Kisuke sighs, casting his gaze around the room, his irritation having reached new heights. He is reminded of the things that Ichigo's frantic reiatsu has broken and sets to cleaning them up, carefully dumping broken glass and ceramic into the wastebasket. It is very domestic of him, he realizes, but it is also all he can do.

He dare not admit how lost he actually is. That he really isn't all too fond of losing everything he has carefully built once more. He will do it for Ichigo without hesitation. But that doesn't mean it is painless. And he especially hates that the underlying cause is once again Aizen Sousuke. The man he loathes with every fiber of his being.

Kisuke passes by the doorway after one such trip to the trashbin, and it is because of it that he catches the disgusted noise Aizen makes. Something akin to a snort but far more derisive.

"All of this for a part-human mongrel. For an anomaly nature never intended," Aizen mutters, barely loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear.

But he still does. And his body freezes, eyes widening fractionally.

There is the barest of seconds where the words echo in Kisuke's ears. And then he snaps – there's no other word to describe it. A low growl settles in his chest as he whirls, finding his hands fisted in the front of Aizen's shirt and propelling him backwards against the wall. Aizen strikes with enough force to rock a nearby framed picture, which swings noisily against the wall.

He wants nothing more than to commit violence in this hallway. To add another bruise to the ones already forming on Aizen's face.

"Don't you _ever_ speak about him like that," Kisuke snarls, unable to help the hot anger that surges through his blood like molten fire.

Aizen looks at him, his expression betraying nothing. There is, however, a sense of victory hidden in his eyes.

"He is that precious to you?" He doesn't even flinch at the sudden attack, makes no effort to remove Kisuke's hands from his person.

"Far more than you are," the blond retorts, and he feel his fingers tighten, twisting in their grip. Aizen's collar draws tighter around his throat, more than a bit threatening. He almost thinks to keep squeezing. Aizen won't be missed. Kami, no one makes him as homicidal as this man.

Aizen's head tips to the side, lips pulling into a snide smirk. "Ah, how elegantly you avoid my questions, Urahara. Just like the coward you are."

A growl echoes low in his throat once more, and Kisuke wonders just when he has been reduced to this territorial beast. "It would be a simple matter to kill you, Aizen," he reminds the former captain, Benihime agreeing wholeheartedly in the back of his mind. "And I wouldn't regret it. Not for an instant."

"Then why don't you?"

It is, plainly put, a challenge. Aizen knows he won't, which is the very reason he asks. He can't help but wonder where Aizen's earlier remorse has disappeared to.

Kisuke, however, is not so easily baited. "Too messy," he replies flippantly, fingers shaking from the force of his grip. "And in answer to your question, yes, he is that precious. But not just to me. Ichigo has more friends than even he knows."

"I suppose that should mean something to me."

His bored frivolity is more than pissing Kisuke off. It's infuriating him.

"In other words, if I weighted your life against his, there would be no comparison. Ichigo, I'll save."

Aizen meets his stare evenly, tipping his head downwards and making his eyes visible. There is mockery hiding in those dark depths, a touch of cruelty that in the past has been masked with a gentle smile and kind words. The very sight of it makes Kisuke's stomach roil. Let Ichigo be swayed by this man? He would rather die.

"You?" Kisuke continues, and his voice is a low hiss. A promise of personal retribution. "You can rot in Hell for all I care." His reiatsu is rising and curling around him, a blood red wave of fury.

"Do you think your subtle threat frightens me?"

"Not at all," he returns, and it's full of fake cheer, though his reiatsu is lashing at Aizen's skin.

Surely, it must burn; he hopes its more than discomfiting. He hopes that Aizen can barely stand the pain. But the other man barely winces, though the discomfort is clear in the sweat gathering on his forehead.

"I am just letting you know where this stands."

His reiatsu crawls over Aizen's skin, Kisuke still hoping that it burns painfully. With a final shove, the blond abruptly releases his captive and steps back from him. His breath wants to be ragged and out of control, but Kisuke forces it into a steady rhythm. He reminds himself that if he loses himself around Aizen, the other man will have won. He can't afford such a loss.

"Stay away from him" is Kisuke's final warning, and he steps into the bedroom, closing the door in Aizen's face. He controls himself and manages not to slam it.

His entire body is shaking, he belatedly realizes. Heart pounding in his chest from adrenaline, and anger burning a hot color across his cheeks. He really loathes Aizen in that moment. Though that is too little a word for the white-hot fury that pours through his veins.

Kisuke takes several deep breaths, trying to calm his rising ire. Ichigo's reiatsu is still unstable. He doesn't need to add to the man's difficulty.

Gradually, Kisuke gets himself under control and goes towards the bed. Ichigo has moved faintly, and his mouth has drawn into a deepening frown. His sleep has become restless, obviously troubled by some dark dream. Kisuke has a pretty good idea of what it entails, having witnessed the same war.

He shucks off his outer layer and running a hand through his hair briefly, lowers himself down beside Ichigo. It is his every intention to keep an eye the sleeping figure. The futon is small, and he has to press close to the other man, not that it is a sacrifice to do so. They've shared a bed before. During the war. When the shouten was so full of misplaced and dying Shinigami that there was no room to spare. Kisuke willingly opened up his room, his private sanctum, to the only one of the lot he truly trusted. He's never even done that with Yoruichi, not once during the hundred years she lived with him or afterwards.

In the quiet, he can hear Ichigo's breathing, steady and even despite his faint shivering. His reiatsu is calm, a steady stream beneath the surface, though Kisuke is again glad for the shielding. In his sleep, Ichigo is letting it all but leak from his pores. Not that he can really help it. But Kisuke actually finds it rather soothing. For all that Ichigo's reiatsu is powerful, fierce and untamed, it is usually gentle. Not soft but easy and flowing.

Still, the blond can't help but wonder what they are supposed to do now. His plans only involved rescuing Ichigo and escaping. He hasn't thought any farther. Ichigo can't return home; Kisuke knows better than to try. There's no future in running from Soul Society for the rest of their existence. And as he's said before, Ichigo has others that care for them.

He realizes though that in the end it's Ichigo's decision. He can only hope that Aizen doesn't somehow influence it. The last thing they need is to listen to a man who's taking a second stab at becoming god. Kisuke won't let Ichigo be hurt because of that man.

Even as he is thinking over their options, fatigue quickly catches up to him. Although he wants to watch over Ichigo, it pulls him into its tight embrace. He fights it for a short moment but swiftly succumbs. The bed is soft and Ichigo warm. Reiatsu sliding over his skin like a familiar and well-loved blanket.

And Kisuke falls asleep to the sound of Ichigo's breathing.


	8. Interlude One: From Yesterday

Ukitake Jyuushiro looks into the mirror and has no idea who is staring back at him. The dark eyes and white hair are familiar. As are the lines and wrinkles. The shape of the mouth as it is drawn taut and the curve of the nose. It is his face, but a stranger looks out of his eyes. The person he has seen for over two millennia is no longer there, replaced by someone tired and defeated and wretched. Broken.

He is weighed down by loss. By Shunsui's absence and his new position. By a war that never should have happened and the betrayal of a man he thought of as his own nephew. By the blood of his subordinates and countless others.

He knew being captain-commander would be difficult, and he was truly the only one left to fill the post, but he had not understood that he would end up selling his soul. Centuries of being a captain had not prepared him for this, for the thousand different directions he is pulled. For the hundreds of voices in his ears, all demanding his every shred of attention. For the demons given human form who quietly steal pieces of him with each passing second until he can only mindlessly submit to their decrees.

And all of it comes to a head when Nanao-san comes to his home in the dead of night, bringing with her a summons from Chamber 46. All of it crashes down around him when he stands before them and learns of a truth he has long suspected but has never dared voice.

Kurosaki Ichigo was – _is_ – a Vizard. An abomination in the eyes of nature and almost every Shinigami. A criminal. A soon to be dead man.

Jyuushiro's heart shatters in his chest as they tell him, and his belly sinks down to rest somewhere around his ankles. The room spins, dancing in front of his eyes. And it is only Nanao-san's steady hands that allow him to keep his feet to make the walk back to his office without dying along the way.

It only gets worse from there. It only becomes nauseating and heart-wrenching, and the world turns on its axis until he isn't even sure which direction is up anymore.

And his breath catches in his throat as they bring Ichigo in wearing chains. Jyuushiro hasn't seen him in so long, in years. Has not realized just how the boy who had once cried himself to sleep on his shoulder had grown into a man. Fierce and independent and bitter in ways that are more than understandable. He had forgotten just how strong Ichigo had become. Standing straight and defiant in the face of imprisonment and loss of his powers and eventually execution. Chin lifted unrepentantly. Unashamed of who and what he is. Unafraid of the very people who make Jyuushiro himself weak at the knees.

He wants to burst from his seat. To reach the floor and fly to Ichigo. To sink to his knees before him and tell him that this is all a mistake. To apologize for not returning for him. To beg his forgiveness for not being there when he was needed the most. To just wrap his arms around him, knot his fingers into his robes, and never let go.

But he doesn't. He just stays fixed in place, rooted to his seat. Jyuushiro can barely even keep order, keep the others in check. Barely find his voice to defend this man who had once called him friend. Who at one time shared his bed if not his body. Who would've shared his life had Jyuushiro been brave enough to ask earlier.

He can't count the number of times he nearly did, recall all the occasions it was on the tip of his tongue. Words that he swallowed when he remembered just how young Ichigo really was. When he felt the tightening of sickness in his lung and the trickle of blood as it escaped from his mouth. And all the reasons he shouldn't do this overshadowed why he needed to.

It had just been so long since anyone had seen him as Ichigo did. As a man and not a captain. As someone to be desired for himself and not his position or his power or even his looks. And Ichigo did see him. In those moments they were alone, curled together in the dark or with Shunsui just beside them, Jyuushiro looked into Ichigo's eyes and saw only himself reflected. Saw only affection and something all together like devotion. Such a heady and frightening thing. Especially in a time of war. Especially when he considered their relative ages.

Especially when he remembers how quickly and easily it fell apart at the seams. How they went from mouths pressing together with heat and passion and Shunsui's laughter in the background to not speaking at all. To not even seeing each other since the very end of the war. His last memory of Ichigo is the boy wrapped in bandages, held up by Urahara-kun, and brown eyes just staring at him. Begging him to understand. He doesn't know if Ichigo managed to make it into college. If he even graduated from high school.

The man standing before him now is so very much like that boy but so very different at the same time. He is older, yes. Perhaps wiser. More aware of the world at large. But his face is still set in that permanently scowl. Hair just as vivid as he remembers. Eyes determined and proud. Not bowing, unbending as they level their charges. As they claim that Aizen is still alive and that Ichigo has been caught consorting with him. That Ichigo has been in his pocket from the beginning.

Jyuushiro doesn't believe that for a second. Doesn't believe any of it at all. It sounds so false to his ears that he can't help but think that Chamber 46 simply fabricated the entire thing. That this is merely a front, a feint to finally get rid of an annoying itch they have never quite been able to scratch out before. Everything – save perhaps the Vizard claims – just rings with falsity. With fallacy and thinly disguised deceptiveness.

It sickens him that they would even stoop to this level, but he is not surprised. Nor is he shocked when they pronounce their sentence. Imprisonment. Power-stripping. A slow sink into oblivion.

And he can only watch dumbfounded, unable to even make his lips move, as they lead Ichigo away. As the boy – man now – walks out like a true warrior with his head held high. He doesn't once look back. Doesn't even glance in Jyuushiro's direction.

Somehow, that cuts deeply. Reaches a wound that is still bleeding. The realization that Ichigo doesn't depend on him any longer. Doesn't believe in him or that he will help. That he is even worth the effort.

Byakuya is in his office when he finally makes it back some indeterminable time later, and a simple taste of the man's reiatsu – frosty and biting in a way that not even Hitsugaya can manage – is a preview to his thoughts.

"Why did you even allow that farce?" his kouhai starts without preamble or greeting. "We owe our lives… our very existence to this man, and now, they send him to his death." He makes a cutting motion with his hand. "They will execute him in everything but name. Have him rot away in some cell for the rest of his days."

" _Why didn't you do anything?_ " is the question unspoken. " _Why did you not defend him? Not protect him?_ "

Jyuushiro says nothing. There is honestly nothing he _can_ say. No defense he can muster. No shield from the words that strike true. From the blade that jabs straight to his heart.

"Will you remain silent here as well? Are you so far gone as to not even show concern?" Byakuya's eyes harden then, lips so thin as to be a line.

The heavy silence grows between. Lengthening as Byakuya's fingers clench at his sides. Stretching as the scent of cherry blossoms becomes overpowering and a pink haze of reiatsu coats everything. A sharp testament to just how deep Kurosaki Ichigo's reach goes, that it even now touches a man who had once attempted to execute his own sister.

"Have you nothing at all to say?" The younger captain's voice is cold, bitter and snapping. "Is he truly not even worth _that_ effort?"

But still, Jyuushiro stays quiet. Cannot even find it within himself to open his mouth. To force his lips to move. Just as frozen and unsure as he was during Ichigo's mockery of a trial. Unable to do anything more than sink warily into his chair and gaze at nothing. Mind treacherous and blank. Utterly empty as his soul.

"Ukitake…" Byakuya begins again, but he just shakes his head then. He stares at Jyuushiro for a long moment before whipping around and striding for the door. But he pauses when he reaches it. Stills with his hand on the frame.

"When did you become so weak? I do not know who you are anymore. You aren't the man you once were."

And then, he is gone, and Jyuushiro can simply stare after him. Can only feel his hands curl into fists. Feel the crackle of his reiatsu as it becomes a torrent and then waves crashing upon the rocky shore. His desk rattles ominously, and the items lining the edge shake and fall to the floor. Exploding on impact.

All he can hear are Byakuya's words – _his accusations_ – resounding in his ears. All he sees is Ichigo as he turns away, not looking for hope or salvation because he knows he will find neither. All he feels are the ghosts of Shunsui's hands as they grasp onto his shoulders and just shake. As they shove at his back and poke him in the chest. As they threaten to wrap around his throat and squeeze sense into him.

If Shunsui were not already dead, Jyuushiro knows he would die of shame in this moment. That he would be on his feet and screaming at him to do something. That he would not take "no" or "I can't" or "we shouldn't" for an answer. That he would not have even allowed them to call a hearing in the first place. That he wouldn't have ever let things get so far, so out of hand.

That he would've rather died than sold himself in such a base way, than to compromise his own principles and sense of honor. Shunsui was many things – lush, skirt-chaser, slacker – but never a coward. Never anything but a loyal and steadfast friend and brother and uncle.

And all Jyuushiro has done since his death is dishonor his memory.

The spark of that thought flashes and ignites in his chest, expanding outward in a torrential downpour of conflicting emotion. Lightning rips across his internal world, and thunder roars through his office and outside into the suddenly darkening sky. Until the swirling clouds are a match to the sudden hurricane raging within him.

And he just knows, understands with every part and parcel and fiber and thread within him exactly what he is going to do. Can feel the plans unfolding within his mind effortlessly, like a flower curling upwards to the heavens. Thoughts expanding like pools as they collect rainwater. Time is meaningless as he finally sits up and can breathe again, can finally think through the fog and cobwebs that had settled over him. Entire being cleansed from both the internal and external cloudburst, from the downpour that abates to a trickle and then leaves behind nothing but clear and unending sky.

Chamber 46 will never know what hit them. Will never realize until it is too late that they have another enemy in their midst. One who does not seek to strike out but to steal away.

Jyuushiro won't be able to save Ichigo's abilities, and he knows it. Ichigo still can't contain his reiatsu well, and it would be beyond easy for them to be found since they have nowhere shielded to flee. But with it gone, they can slip away and unnoticed effortlessly. Besides, it will just be so much easier to free him from the Maggot's Nest itself. It could take days, months even before they notice Ichigo is gone from there.

There are dozens of places he and Shunsui discovered over their lives. Some secluded. Others crowded. But all of them the perfect way to disappear. To never be found. Places in the living world where he can still easily receive treatments and Ichigo can continue his education. Where they can just be themselves. Be free of Seireitei and the Shinigami and the years of regrets between them.

And he sleeps like the dead that night. Like he hasn't in years. Since his bed has become cold and the chair that Shunsui always occupied on the worst nights has stayed empty. Sleeps peacefully and deeply and dreamless. With resolve in his stomach and strength in his soul.

But as with all things, the universe does not go as he thought it would.

Jyuushiro wakes to pandemonium. To the head of Chamber 46 stalking into his bedroom and all but kicking him into consciousness. To the sounds of panic outside in the streets and the rush of guards and Shinigami to and fro. To the furious and grim faces of his captains but the gleam of triumph in Byakuya's eyes.

Ichigo has escaped. Or was freed. Better yet, he has completely disappeared. No whisper or trace of him anywhere. Vanished like morning mist evaporating before sunlight. Truly and utterly gone.

Jyuushiro doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. Can't do more than sit in a secretly bemused state as the blame is volleyed back and forth and to one side and then the other. Everyone is at fault. No one is at fault. Someone _must be_ at fault. They just don't know who.

Urahara-kun? He is gone from his shouten when they dispatch their messengers. Location unknown.

The other ryoka? They are all present and completely accounted for. Baffled by what is going on.

The Vizard? They haven't been seen since the end of the war. It isn't even known if they were still in contact with Ichigo in the first place.

Who else is there?

That is the question on everyone's mind. On Chamber 46's thoughts as they harass every person who has so much as looked at Ichigo before. As they summon Jyuushiro himself and demand that he account for his whereabouts. As they repeat that treatment with every captain and lieutenant and seated officer. With the entirety of the eleventh division and no small part of several others. With a thoroughly surprised Shihouin Yoruichi and an equally astonished Kuchiki Rukia.

But no one seems to know anything. To be anything but shocked at the occurrence. It's like the universe itself suddenly just unfolded around the boy and let him slip through the cracks. Like the world kept revolving around the sun but left Ichigo behind.

It's so impossible and delightfully insane that it is all Jyuushiro can do to answer their demands and not chortle like a gleeful schoolboy. To not let the smile spread across his lips or the rise and excited hum of his reiatsu be felt. And after hours of questioning and accusations and paranoia, he returns to his home exhausted but exhilarated. A glance in the mirror shows a man he'd thought lost and scattered to the four winds, who stares back with determination and barely contained strength.

And that night, his tears are from something a lot like relief.

* * *

Retsu watches the rain from her window. It is a soft thing, dainty and light and barely noticeable in the darkness. Little more than a soft mist over the sleeping city and not the raging storm from that afternoon. One that blasted several trees with lightning and blew the tiles from the roofs of numerous buildings.

This rain is far from that, far from the veritable tempest of earlier. It is suited for the night, she thinks. Suited for this night in particular. A time of endings and mourning. For the flicker of hope that echoes in her very soul. It is merely a waiting game now, watching the clock until it is time to meet Nanao-san. Their plan is important, achingly so, but it will be the death of them both if they are caught.

But the alternative… The alternative is unthinkable. Kurosaki-kun does not deserve this fate. Not in the slightest. Not at all. He is not a monster for all that he has a Hollow. He is not a traitor. He is just a tired and vaguely bitter boy who has grown into a man. A loyal compatriot who has done nothing but help them. She saw the tiredness in his eyes – his soul – during her earlier visit. The sort of weariness that only comes when one sees the world for all its horrible beauty. Who glimpses the lies and trickery and utter corruption that is inherent in human nature and knows that they could do so much better. But that they won't. They won't ever be anything more unless forced. Unless given no other choice.

Yet, that thought and all the memories surrounding it are for another time. Another place. Another life. One where she was strong enough to shake free from this farce and do what she should have done from the very beginning. Where she did more than give Aizen Sousuke an untraceable gigai and an escape to the living world. Where she did more than simply look the other way when he made overtures for her support, subtle as they might have been all that time ago.

But Retsu has never been as strong as she could be. She is not weak, not by a long shot. But still not as strong as she needs to be. Not strong enough to protect her own son. And certainly not strong enough to save another little boy, lost and unwanted and so quietly desperate.

However, she is not Aizen Sousuke's mother, though she wishes it were true. Not by blood and not even truly by reality. She still is the closest thing he has ever had to one either way. His own certainly never cared beyond what was absolutely required, never found him of interest until her oldest was gone.

Retsu was the one to fill that role. The one to take her son's playmate into her home and ensure that he was not completely forgotten. The one to speak to his teachers and to see him off to school. To stand by his side at his graduation from the academy and when he was promoted to captain.

But even as a child he pulled away. Kept just out of reach. And not even she could touch the dark places inside of him. Kyouraku Shunsui – his mother's sister's husband – could not either. Try as he might. Not with kindness or smiles or laughter or even bribes – books and knowledge, Sousuke's one true weakness. Perhaps it was because he was a man, because he reminded Sousuke too much of things better forgotten.

After all, Aizen Yoshio was not a father, was hardly even a man. And over a century after his death, he is still undeserving of either term. Still undeserving of the power and prestige he wielded as a member of Chamber 46. The power of life and death he held over so many, including his younger son. And little Sousuke, so small and delicate as a child with doe eyes that were far too intelligent even then, was his spare and not the heir. The extra son when Yoshio and his wife had wanted a daughter.

And that, she thinks, is why. This is why she spared him because she could not save him as a child. She did it because she remembers the purplish marks hidden beneath his summer yukata, outlines of fists and hands and fingers. And she recalls that he did not even cry when she set his broken wrist or forearm. The way he would lean into her touches as not even her own son did. The things – his actions – that spoke volumes within him speaking at all.

Sousuke grew into a man under her watchful eye, and no matter how well he may have fooled the others, she always knew. There were always hints of his actions, of his true thoughts. But she said and did nothing to stop him. To turn him from that path. And truthfully, she never would have. Never would have wanted such a thing.

He was right. Still is. He may not have used the best methods, but his motivations were true and the targets deserving.

Retsu has only to think of what is to happen the coming morning, to recall the own plot within her heart, to understand this. To find within herself the strength she has needed before this moment but could not grasp.

Kurosaki Ichigo is so different but similar to that fragile boy she once knew. The same determination, the same strength. The unwillingness to back down no matter how life mocks him so, no matter the heartaches and sorrow. He does not deserve his fate, and she will see that he does not suffer it. Even if it costs her all that she is, Retsu will go, knowing that for once she did the right thing. That she did not see and look away. That she did not comfort with one hand even as she shoved him back to his tormentors with the other. Too long has she done that; far too long has she done nothing.

For once, she will not be weak. She won't step aside. She won't be as everyone else and stick her head in the sand.

Unohana Retsu will see this through. That is a promise. And a threat. She may not have been strong enough for another, so achingly similar child. But she is for this.

Come the dawn, she will set things right.


	9. Decision

He feels as if he has just spent the night binge-drinking, bottle upon bottle of sake. Ichigo stirs, a low groan rattling in his chest as he shifts on the bed. One hand flops out as he twitches, landing against something warm and partially soft. There is a feeling of skin and fabric both, and it is only then that he registers the presence of another beside him.

It takes several fleeting seconds for him to recognize the sleeping reiatsu – Benihime. It is only Urahara behind him. His muscles tensed before that realization, Ichigo breathes out a sigh of relief. But then, he remembers.

He is no longer Soul Society's captive. He's been rescued. And the manacles are gone. If he concentrates, he can feel both Zangetsu and Shirosaki near to them. The discomfiting sensation of being closed off from a part of himself is gone. He is, in no better terms, free. Ichigo can't help but wonder for how long.

He doubts Soul Society has given up on him. They must be furious for his escape, ruthlessly questioning underlings for who must have been betrayed them _again_. He finds it interesting that for such a righteous place, they have many traitors.

Ichigo's mouth is dry and tastes like sandpaper. And if he doesn't get some water soon, his empty stomach will protest mightily. The hunger has returned along with his reiatsu, for now laying quiescent within him but still damaged by the confinement. It surges against the tattered confines of the barriers he's been taught.

Groggily, he pushes off layers of blankets that seem a bit superfluous and tries to slip from the futon. He belatedly realizes that his arm is trapped under Urahara and his fingers are going numb at the ends. Ichigo wonders how that happened as they are on opposite sides of the covers and frowns as he tries to extract himself. There is a pressing need in his bladder, and he'd rather not have a damp awakening.

He carefully eases his arm free, the blond barely stirring, and Ichigo slips off and up without making a sound. He pauses as he stands on shaking feet, feeling as if he's been trampled by a dozen angry Grimmjows. Urahara looks tired, as tired as Ichigo feels, definite lines of fatigue in his usually youthful face. No wonder he is still asleep. The thought that the older man must have stayed by Ichigo's side as he slept is comforting. Warming even. It makes Ichigo relieved and perhaps a tad embarrassed. No one has cared for him like that in a long time.

Once his legs finally feel like holding up his weight, he creeps to the door and peers into a darkened hallway. He does not recognize this building, but he's pretty sure he can find the bathroom on his own. It doesn't exactly take rocket science.

The doorway to his left is recognizable as the kitchen, sunlight pouring through open blinds and illuminating the clear countertop and tiles. Beyond it, the hallway dumps into a main room, the edge of a couch just visible. To Ichigo's right, two more doors are visible, one wide open and the other cracked slightly. He assumes one to be a bedroom, and as he steps towards the second, he is relieved to find the bathroom. His bladder is thankful for it.

He has a moment to breathe easily as he takes care of business, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the truth of what has happened waits for a moment to pounce. Ichigo ignores that for the moment. He isn't ready to confront it just yet, so he concentrates on something else. Anything else really. He wonders where he is and realizes he owes a debt of gratitude to so many people. A debt he doubts he can ever repay.

The sound of splashing water fills the bathroom as he washes his hands, and then, Ichigo steps back into the silence of the hallway. The other doorway is shut tightly still, and he glances towards it, wondering what is beyond the closed wood. He thinks he remembers someone else with Urahara, but that memory is cluttered with the sensation of having his reiatsu suppressed and increasing fatigue.

Bah, it will come to him sooner or later.

Ichigo still feels weary so he turns back to the original room. His stomach clenches with hunger, and he has the urge to find Zangetsu. It's been a while since he's managed to talk to ossan and that pale bastard. The disconnected sensation lingers, and he won't feel right until he's certain they're fine.

When he walks in, Urahara is awake as well, looking around with a mixture of worry and persisting fatigue. Ichigo rakes a hand through his hair, an expression of gratitude on his lips. But before he can even voice it, the shopkeeper rises to his feet and crosses the room, pulling Ichigo into a tight embrace. Surprised, Ichigo doesn't even resist, unable to deny the welcome familiarity. Stretched thin, he needs it.

"Thank you," he manages, surrounded by the scent of confectioneries and explosions, two things he has always associated with the blond.

"Stop it," Urahara returns, and if he is shaking, Ichigo pretends not to notice.

Ichigo allows a small smile to tug at his lips. "I was being polite."

Snorting, Urahara withdraws a step, gaze flickering over Ichigo's face, noticeably pale and drawn. "You should be in bed."

"I don't want to be," Ichigo replies, feeling particularly stubborn. Even if his knees still wobble and his nerves are frazzled and raw. He thinks that if he stays in bed, he will feel caged, and he's had enough of that the past few... hours? Days? Ichigo really doesn't know.

The choice is taken from him. A subtle push that Ichigo has no strength to resist, and he's directed back towards the futon, body glad for the relief as he lowers himself down. He thought himself recovered from the reiatsu-sucking chains. Apparently, he has overestimated his own strength.

"Stubborn brat," Urahara teases affectionately. "You can't just walk around after those things. It'll take a few days."

Ichigo snorts but obediently lies down, pretending like his body hadn't been demanding the rest. "Perverted know-it-all," he counters, and his head tips to the side, finally laying eyes on his zanpakutou. Relief courses through him at sight of the black and silver blade, and he feels the sword give a thrum in response.

He reaches out, half-expecting to be stopped, and drags his hands across the surface. There is an answering pulse like a buzz of power across the tips of his fingers. He can feel both Zangetsu and Shirosaki, tired and annoyed but alive and well.

"Where are we?" Ichigo asks, and it's probably belated, but his mind is in so many places right now that he can't seem to focus.

"Not far from Karakura," Urahara assures him, and he wanders around the room, rearranging and cleaning but not doing much at all. It seems restless of him, though Ichigo is still too out of it to think deeply on the matter. "Where better to hide than right under their noses?"

Ichigo is reminded that he has to do that now. Hide. He can't exactly run back home. He can't finish his paper and hope to get that internship. He can't do any of it. He's a wanted man now. Soul Society will be even more furious that he's slipped from their grasp. How quickly his allies have turned to enemies.

"I'm glad to see that you are well, Kurosaki-kun."

And how quickly his enemies have become his allies apparently.

Ichigo's eyes pop open. He finds Aizen standing in the doorway. Surprises of all surprises. He hasn't thought that he would ever see the disgraced man again. Ichigo wants to say something to that effect, but he just can't get past the swollen and bruised mark.

"What the hell happened to your face?" he blurts out, completely lacking in tact but too surprised to hold it in.

In the midst of whirling towards the aperture, as bothered by the sudden voice as Ichigo, Urahara snickers under his breath. Ichigo wonders about that, too.

Aizen, for his part, fidgets in the doorway, a sour expression taking over his features. "I ran into a door."

It's strange because Aizen doesn't seem the type to twitch. But then, he doesn't seem the type to come begging in his own way to Ichigo for help. There's a lot of things that Aizen didn't seem likely to do before that he is apparently doing now. No wonder Ichigo feels a hint of vertigo. Everything he's supposed to know as an absolute, as black and white, has now flitted into the unknown territory of grey.

Hell, even Ichigo can tell that is a lie.

He stares. "I'm not an idiot," Ichigo retorts, annoyed that Aizen would try to pass him off as one. He shifts his gaze to Urahara. "Who broke his nose?"

"It's not broken," the former overlord attempts, but Ichigo ignores him.

Urahara can't seem to control his mirth as he smirks. "Your father was... _perturbed_ with little Sousuke's arrival. As was your sister."

Not for a single second does Ichigo think Yuzu was the one to inflict damage. "Yeah, Karin's got a mean punch," he agrees musingly, though he's shocked as all hell that she would just up and hit Aizen like that. He's damn proud of her.

"So I noticed," the man mutters, almost without thinking about it. His eyes shift to Ichigo, appraising and weighing. Worrying?

No, Ichigo must have imagined it. He doesn't want to know what kind of hell he resembles right now. He can feel it in the fatigue deep in his bones. His mouth is still dry, and his stomach is clenching. The image in the bathroom's mirror hadn't even resembled the medical student Ichigo is supposed to be.

Or isn't anymore. Dammit, he keeps forgetting that.

Ichigo puts a hand over his eyes, thinking. "Will Soul Society go after them?" he asks in a spark of worry. He dreads to think of the Shinigami using his family as some sort of hostages for his return, especially if he's not there to protect them.

Someone should be looking after his body. Kon perhaps. Urahara's here, so it can't be him. And what about Tessai and the others? What would they think?

Something flitters through Urahara's reiatsu before he can completely clamp on it. He hasn't considered that possibility, Ichigo realizes. And it both bothers and warms him that though Urahara has obviously planned in some manner to help him, he hasn't considered all possible outcomes.

"I don't think they will," Urahara answers slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. "They are smart enough to not get those involved who have nothing to do with the situation. They may poke around, but they won't hurt them."

Aizen snorts but wisely doesn't comment.

The gnawing in Ichigo's stomach is more than worry. And a loud growl announces the other half of his emotions. He wonders how long it's been since he's last eaten. Where is that lost time? He can't get it back.

Just like the life he once thought he would be able to have. And it keeps circling back to that. Everything. Gone. Because of _them_. And well, Aizen, if he wants to think about it that way. Maybe he'll feel better if he has someone to blame. Somewhere to direct his anger.

"You're hungry," Urahara comments needlessly, and Ichigo slides his arm down from his forehead to look at the shopkeeper. "I'll get you something."

His eyes are shaded, impossible to read. Somehow, he's replaced his hat when Ichigo wasn't looking. There is a note in his voice, however, that suggests he knows Ichigo needs a minute alone. Possibly more. This is a suddenly heavy weight atop the chains of war that had already bound him.

Aizen glances at Urahara, and Ichigo watches them have some sort of quiet battle with their eyes. Hostility is there. It seems like something more than the both of them having fought on different sides in a war. Deeper. Darker even. _Personal._ And Ichigo can't claim to be an expert on either of their pasts.

"Anything's fine," Ichigo says and closes his eyes again.

"Good. I can't claim to have stocked much," Urahara replies, and it's very light and very fake. Cheer where a situation won't really accept it.

He hears them leave more than sees them and is sort of glad that Aizen hasn't lingered to talk to him. He just wants a moment. He breathes in. Out. In again. Feels the tension radiating throughout his body. And thinks of a cell in Soul Society where they'd planned to rip out his powers and confine him for the rest of his existence. It had all been for a threat he may or may not have become.

Ichigo can't help but think that things wouldn't have been like this if the war hadn't turned so ugly. If so many hadn't died. If he hadn't failed to save so many. That's part of Aizen's fault, too. He should probably hate the man, but that loathing is lost somewhere in the disgust and fury he currently feels towards Soul Society. Towards those who promised to be his friends but dropped him at their earliest convenience.

The silence of the room becomes all the more telling now that he's alone. And despite his fatigue, Ichigo feels overcome by a feeling of restlessness. His mind is scattered in even more directions now. "How could this happen" battling with "what should I do?" He knows that Aizen's right, and a part of him wants nothing more than to pay Soul Society back for what they're putting him through. Another piece of him is so goddamned sick of fighting. It just wants to turn back the clock. To erase everything back to the time he made a decision, back to when he decided to help Rukia in this war. No, back further than that. Back to when he chased after her, fought battle after battle to save her soul.

He honestly thinks he would've been better off to have just left her to die.

Swiping a hand over his hair, Ichigo rises unsteadily to his feet and takes a breath. He situates his robe closer around his body, only belatedly realizing that it is not what he was wearing before. He wonders if there are any of his clothes about and spies a bag near the door. Rummaging about it in it produces some of his own attire.

He feels marginally more gathered once he's dressed in his own clothes. Agitation stirs again. He's only had a glimpse of their new location – not his home, not the home he remembers. He thinks to explore more but feels Zangetsu calling to him, the zanpakutou thrumming with his same restlessness.

He really needs to reconnect with his sword, with himself. Ichigo is glad for the solitude they've given him. He doesn't much like witnesses.

Dropping back down to the bed, ignoring the bout of dizziness it produces, Ichigo reaches for his zanpakutou. He pulls the blade towards him, resting it across his knees. His fingers skim the surface, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

His concentration has improved since he was a reckless teenager. It doesn't take much to go deep inside his own mind, to find that world where all the parts of him gather. He feels it before he sees it, sun on his face and the strange sensation of orientating to a different position. He's always thought that a sideways world is a strange representation of himself. But then again, maybe he's just like that – sideways.

" _Zangetsu?_ "

" _I am here, Ichigo,_ " the zanpakutou spirit responds patiently, sounding just as tired as his master. He materializes behind Ichigo, black cloth fluttering in the wild wind whipping through Ichigo's inner mind.

Relieved, Ichigo turns to greet him, glancing around pointedly. " _And the bastard?_ "

" _Oh, how sweet. I've got a pet name_ ," the damn Hollow drawls, stepping out from an unknown space beside Zangetsu. His eyes are rimmed in red, and he visibly slumps, looking for all the world as if he's been strung through a wringer. " _I didn't know ya cared, aibou._ "

Ichigo rolls his eyes, shielding his face from the frantic winds, a reflection of the chaos within him. He is glad that it hasn't yet started to rain. Though thunderclouds march on the far horizon, steadily descending on the calm blue.

" _Next time, I won't bother_ ," he shoots back, just because that's how it always is with them now.

They've come to a sort of understanding, garnering a respect for each other that ensured they got along. To an extent. Shinji may be an annoying bastard, but he did teach Ichigo how not to destroy himself from the inside out. Still, Ichigo won't be singing his Hollow's praises anytime soon, and he doubts he'll ever see Shirosaki bow. But it isn't a struggle to hold his sanity anymore, and for that, he's grateful.

Shirosaki just grins at him then, determined not to show his weakness.

" _We are both fine_ ," Zangetsu inserts, a hint of humor and endless patience in his old tone. " _The fatigue you feel will pass._ "

Sometimes, Ichigo doesn't understand how they can both be part of him. They are so different. It is hard for him to see himself in the calm and wise zanpakutou spirit. It is hard to see where Shirosaki is another version of himself since Ichigo has never known himself to be such a vicious person. And yet… here they stand. Reflections of himself.

In any case, it isn't really the fatigue that concerns Ichigo. There is something else, growing cold and bitter inside of him. But perhaps the fact that he doesn't really want to talk about it is the reason Zangetsu doesn't mention it. He doesn't expect Shirosaki to even notice.

" _When we gonna get revenge, ne?_ " Shirosaki inserts, a look of manic glee entering his dark eyes. He licks his lips. " _Show 'em what they should really be afraid of._ "

Zangetsu tips his head to the side, regarding the Hollow from the corner of his vision. " _That would be counter-productive_."

" _Or maybe it wouldn't_ ," Ichigo murmurs more to himself than the others.

He remembers what Aizen asked of him, and a part of him wishes he had agreed earlier. Soul Society was so quick to judge. Admittedly, they had faced some difficulties with allies turning traitor in the past. But to impose captivity on him for nothing more than the creature that existed inside him, there is no excuse for that. There is no excuse for Inoue. Or Ishida. Or anything else that Ichigo has bitten his tongue about because he is so very tired.

Shirosaki smirks. " _That's right. King didn't like those shackles anymore than I did._ "

Zangetsu sighs at the bloodlust practically radiating from the Hollow and shifts his attention back to Ichigo. " _Urahara-san and Aizen are returning, Ichigo._ "

Even as he says that, Ichigo can feel the familiar prickle of Urahara's reiatsu approaching, his senses much more tender after the removal of the collar. No doubt it will be hours before Ichigo feels like himself again. If that is even possible now that his whole life has been effectively ripped out from under him.

Dammit… but it keeps coming back to that.

"Ichigo?"

He opens his eyes to find Urahara and Aizen staring at him curiously, though the former has some idea of what Ichigo has been doing. He understands more the connection between zanpakutou, Hollow, and human. Ichigo spies a plate in Urahara's hands, steam curling from the prepared food, and a cup. He dearly hopes it isn't tea.

Ichigo shakes his head. "They're fine," he assures Urahara, letting Aizen draw his own conclusions about their discussion. He's too tired to explain things right now.

Urahara inclines his head and steps further into the room, setting the tray in front of Ichigo. The meal is mostly bland, but anything stronger would just make Ichigo's rolling stomach rebel. And the cup does contain tea. It smells good, but Ichigo doesn't trust it. He never trusts anything that the shopkeeper brews. Ichigo's learned his lessons.

Pulling up a chair, the geta-boushi sighs and tosses Ichigo an unamused look. "Don't look at it like that," he says and then grudgingly admits, "Aizen made it. Not me."

Mildly more interested than before, Ichigo dares curl a hand around the cup. It smells subtly sweet, and the warmth in the ceramic soaks into his fingers. He hadn't realized until now how very cold they feel.

"Well," he prods, taking a sip and having to admit that it is very palatable. At least, compared to the acid that Urahara tends to brew. "What are we doing next?"

He thinks it'll make it easier if he has some sort of grasp of the situation. Even if it does drive home just how much has changed for him again. And he'd been the fool to think that he could walk away from his past.

Urahara and Aizen do that annoying argue-with-their-eyes thing, and Ichigo is almost fascinated by it. Aizen stands, while Urahara sits by his side, almost protective. And again, Ichigo wonders what stands between them. He wishes he knew a bit more about the past, especially since it seems so relevant here.

"We should hide out for a while," Urahara suggests, reaching up to scratch a finger over his chin. The look he tosses Aizen dares him to argue otherwise. "Let some of the heat over your disappearance cool."

The former overlord snorts. "That is very unlikely to happen, and you know it. Soul Society is not going to give up because finding him has been difficult for a few days."

"And I can guess your suggestion," Urahara retorts scathingly, a sneer twisting his lips. It's a much more serious Urahara than the one Ichigo is used to seeing, but somehow, that is comforting.

"You want me to go after the throne," Ichigo inserts quietly and around a small mouthful of rice. It takes great effort to swallow. Though he's hungry, his stomach is also in knots of unease and roiling emotion.

Brown eyes flicker to Ichigo, something flashing in them. "I have not changed my wishes, despite the circumstances. And now, you can see why I intended as I did."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ichigo snorts, popping another stickful of something into this mouth. He barely notices the flavor. Not amongst the bitter taste of betrayal that lingers on his tongue.

Jyuushiro…

No, he won't think about that. Not now.

He can feel Aizen's eyes on him, can practically feel the debate in the man's stare. Urahara's also. Watching him carefully.

"Have you considered my offer?"

Ichigo's brow furrows as his stomach twists. And though he's hungry, he thinks he's done with the meal. He sets down his chopsticks, making motions to get off the bed. He feels a little trapped in this room, beneath their steady stares.

"Yeah," he mutters and slides off the futon to their surprise. "I still don't know what I want to do."

The sense of bitterness and betrayal he feels for Soul Society battles against the thought of working with his former enemy. He has a lot to blame Aizen for – blood and Renji and death and Shunsui and _pain –_ but that is also past. Ichigo doesn't know if he can put that behind him. Aizen is no hero; he is not a good man. Even Unohana-san's words about what have driven him are not quite enough to clear Ichigo's conscience.

And Soul Society has proven to be not much better. But then, are they not much worse?

"You don't have to do anything," Urahara says.

Ichigo's not surprised that they are following him. Maybe they think he's going to collapse or something. He does feel a bit peaked still.

"And you especially don't have to listen to him," the blond concludes, voice vaguely fierce and hands hovering inches from Ichigo's shoulder. As though he wants nothing more to grab on. Or perhaps pull him farther away from Aizen.

Ichigo already knows this fact. He won't be convinced of anything he doesn't want to do. He sets his dishes in the sink, listens to them clatter a bit, and turns to face the two older men. He barely catches the disgruntled look Aizen tosses Urahara before it's smoothed over by placidity again. That man has an excellent game face; Ichigo can give him that.

"What makes you think this is going to work?" Ichigo asks much to Urahara's disappointment. But he has to know. If he's even going to consider this, he needs to know why Aizen thinks the risk is worth it. He needs to know that there's more than just petty revenge, even if part of him would be convinced by only vengeance.

Aizen seems pleased, glasses catching the light in a devious manner. Or perhaps Ichigo's just tired.

"It's you," he replies simply, and at Ichigo's confused stare, he chooses to elaborate. "I must say that your very existence has always been a miscalculation for me. I would be very hard pressed _not_ to believe that the world is already on your side."

He sounds so very confident that for a moment Ichigo _believes_. Until he is reminded that Aizen has failed once before, and there's really no proof of anything. He wonders if the risk is great enough. But even more, Ichigo wonders if he will ever be free to live as he wants. How long will Soul Society keep looking for him?

Ichigo can't undo what has happened. Is it pointless to consider anything other than Aizen's plan? Could Ichigo do that? Fight against his former allies with his former enemy at his side to take a throne he doesn't really want?

He could change so much. There is a whisper in the back of his mind, wheedling and reminding. He could fix things. If he really is what the world is looking for, he could do so much. He wonders at the limits of the king, if they even exist at all.

"And if it isn't?" Urahara inserts perhaps a bit testily. "What will you do then?"

"Are you saying you can't believe Kurosaki-kun capable?"

"Don't turn me into a villain here, Aizen," the geta-boushi practically hisses, though it's so carefully restrained that Ichigo barely recognizes it. "This is his life you're talking about. Haven't you ruined it enough?"

Ichigo wonders if his life _could_ get any more destroyed than the shambles that currently sit around him. His bright and shiny medical future is gone. His days of ignorance – perhaps not peaceful but good enough – have vanished.

Is Urahara right? Is there a chance this might blow over? What would he have to do to prove his innocence? Turn Aizen in?

The thought of that strangely makes something quail inside of Ichigo. He remembers Unohana and the gleam in her eyes. He remembers her story. It makes him waver just a bit.

Ichigo looks, and they are having another one of their subtle glaring matches, arguing without words. Ichigo's not in a mood to hear it. Or not hear it as things may be. He turns away from both of them, intent on leaving both to their bickering.

"Where are you going?"

There is a feeling not unlike one that doesn't allow him to breathe gathering in his chest.

"For a walk."

Hesitation is there before Urahara stops him, grabbing his arm and looking at him regretfully. "I don't have the disguises ready yet. It wouldn't be wise." His voice is regretful, thumb rubbing over Ichigo's skin.

But that doesn't help at all.

It crawls up over his back and sits on his shoulders like a clinging demon, this sense of being in a cage. Even though he knows Urahara won't stop him if he's really serious about tempting Soul Society. Ichigo knows he's not up to par though. He's not ready to end up in their clutches again.

He can't leave. If he does, Soul Society will find them. And it will be back to the shackles before being carted off to some dark, dank prison. He is reminded again that his future has been stripped from him. And if Chamber 46 had its way, so would his freedom.

Frustrated beyond belief, Ichigo just sighs. "Yeah, whatever," he mutters and slips out of Urahara's reach, arm suddenly cold at the loss of contact.

Aizen is watching them again, something telling on his face. And that scrutiny annoys Ichigo, too.

Things used to be so simple.

He rakes a hand through his hair, badly in need of a cut, and wanders back down the hall towards his – their? – bedroom. He only sees two in the house. Looks like he's probably sharing with the geta-boushi, not that it will be the first time. He remembers being crammed into all sorts of places during the war, and it was a rare, special moment when Urahara offered his own inner sanctum for Ichigo's use. He's pretty sure that not even Yoruichi-san has ever been given that honor. Not that Ichigo can blame him for that one. No telling what she'd do to a person during their sleep.

Just beyond his hearing, Urahara and Aizen's low tones can be heard but not understood. No doubt they are arguing in their own way. Well, they can snap and growl at each other all they want. In the end, the decision is his. Even if he doesn't know what he wants it to be right now.

The silence is even more enclosing in the solitude of the room. Ichigo drops down onto the futon with a soft thump and leans up against the wall, hands dangling over his knees. He worries about his family, about his half-finished schoolwork sitting on his desk. He's probably missed a bunch of classes at this point. Though he supposes it doesn't matter anymore.

And he can't even leave the building because he might be recognized.

It's Aizen's fault. As surely as everything that happened to Ichigo before is Aizen's fault. Though he can't blame Aizen for Chamber 46's prejudice and their self-proclaimed justice. Or for Rukia turning on him. Or for Jyuushiro being such a weak-willed dick.

Still, Ichigo wants someone to blame. He thinks Aizen is just easier because he's there. But he also makes sense. Ichigo doesn't want him to make sense.

He breathes in sharply. Out again. He wonders when he'll get to see his sisters. Even Goat-Face just a little bit. The man's an idiot, but Isshin is his father. There's some affection there. And he is – was – supposed to meet with Tatsuki later this week. One of those "How are you doing… I'm still alive… awkward silence" lunches that she forces him to attend, even if he never has anything different to say. He knows he should ask her about Ishida. He never has the courage to actually say the words aloud.

Ishida. He doesn't want to think about the Quincy and everything he's lost because then it just reminds Ichigo of all the times he's failed. Of the war and all that he's suppressed. The years that he can't seem to lose. But like a song stuck in the back of his head, it loops around and around. Reminding.

His breath catches. His heart stutters. And the sound of his own blood in his veins is all too loud. Ichigo can hear distant echoes of screams and pain. He can taste the bitter flavor of ash and smoke, metallic in his mouth. He coughs on a whiff of dust-laden air. His hands are stained. He watches as his companions, his allies, his friends fall one by one.

And Ichigo remembers.


	10. Memories

_Blood and terror, it soaks into the battlefield. Ichigo battles away a Hollow's claws and cuts it down halfway without looking. He feels reiatsu spiking everywhere around him, so many different flavors. He can hardly tell one from the other, even those he knows the best. Ash and smoke rise in the air, clouding his sight._

" _ **Higa Zekkou**_ _ **!**_ _"_

_Renji's voice, stressed and frantic, cuts through the noise and clamor like a knife into Ichigo's senses. He last remembers seeing the redhead with one of the lower Arrancar, no one too powerful. Easy pickings, even for Renji. It isn't an opponent that would require that level of attack, nowhere close._

_Ichigo whirls, tries to peer across a battlefield thick with clashes and the dead and dying. He sees that head of hair, bright despite the dust clouds and loose from its high ponytail. He sees the pieces of Zabimaru glowing with reiatsu, Renji's last desperate attack._

_And he sees Grimmjow. Who Ichigo spared earlier in the war. Somehow, he's here, back in the battle, fangs bared in his resurreccion form. Has the vice-captain by the throat, claws digging in tightly. And Ichigo feels something inside of him grow cold._

_He's too far. Too fucking far. But he moves anyway._

_Power and reiatsu clash, the smell of blood thick on Ichigo's tongue. Even with the other spiritual pressures in the area, he can feel the last of Renji. He thinks he might be shouting, but it's hard to tell. An Arrancar looms in front of him; Ichigo cuts it down without noticing._

_A burst of air from another battle stirs the cloud settling over Renji and Grimmjow. And then, one of the Fraccion dive into Ichigo's path, too strong for him just to cleave through and move on. Their zanpakutou meet as the man – or woman, he's not sure – grins at him over their kissed blades._

_Blood intermingles with hair nearly the same shade. Renji's body jerks and falls forward, too slowly for it to make any sense. He drops to his knees, and Ichigo can see Grimmjow standing there, blood dripping from one arm, scorched and bleeding from Renji's last attack but still fucking standing there._

_Renji's not moving. Ichigo can feel him like a tiny flicker, a bare pulse in time with the crimson that soaks the ground beneath him. Horror rises with bile, and then, the Arrancar in front of him screeches something incoherent, renewing her – his... it's – attack. The blow is jarring, and Ichigo is forced to pay attention, even as his mind screams to hurry. That he's in the wrong place at the wrong battle, and he's needed somewhere else._

Ichigo's heart feels as if it's climbed into his throat as he claws his way out of the memory. " _Too little, too late_ " a voice whispers inside of him. Right now, he can't remember who it was that eventually took Grimmjow down. Someone did; he's sure of it. Maybe it was Jyuushiro. Maybe Urahara. His recollections of that moment are completely overridden by Renji's death. After that, the rest of the battle is a blur.

He doesn't want to, but the silence demands it. He can hear some clock ticking away the time, and the heavy feeling in his gut pretty much tells him that it's going to be one of those nights. A bad night.

One where the nightmares have more strength than anything else. He'll wake up with sweat-soaked sheets. Possibly on his bed. Possibly his flailing will throw him to the floor. He won't be able to stop his heart from trying to escape from his chest, and the echoes will reverberate in his ears, long after he's stopped dreaming.

Yeah, one of those nights. Something to look forward to.

Ichigo thinks about what Aizen wants from him. And he doesn't know what he wants in return. A bit of mayhem and payback perhaps. His life is nothing but shards around him now. Everything he's worked to build, they've taken it from him. He won't ever see that degree. He won't see that future.

He hates it.

Ichigo pushes his spine against the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. It doesn't stop the flood of images, though he'd like to think it would. He can't escape from it, he realizes. He can't try to move on. Not when the past reaches forward and yanks him back.

" _Ichigo, you are very young."_

_He wonders if Jyuushiro is just now figuring that out. "I suppose that means you're going to tell me to wait or something."_

_Jyuushiro smiles, his brown eyes dancing. "That would be best," he says, and it shifts into slightly mischievous as he skates a hand down Ichigo's side. "Though it won't bother me as much as it will bother you."_

" _I wouldn't say you were a bother," Ichigo returns and stares at Jyuushiro's lips. Considers another kiss. He likes the way the older man tastes. He isn't sure what to call it. Manly or something. It's not like he has a lot of experience with this sort of thing. Maybe that's what Jyuushiro really means when he says that Ichigo is young._

_Young enough that Jyuushiro won't touch him but old enough to fight to the death in a massive war. Old enough to break and bleed and die a little inside. How ironic._

It seems like a lifetime ago. More than that. Like it happened to another person, someone who only resembles Ichigo on the outside. The Jyuushiro he knew then is vastly different from the man he has just seen. As if they are no longer even the same person.

Ichigo aches, just a little, for the Jyuushiro he once knew.

He can't remember what started it. At least not clearly. Maybe excitement for a battle won or relief that they were both alive and well. Maybe it had something to do with the look in Jyuushiro's eyes. In the end, the reason why or what probably doesn't matter.

_Jyuushiro is kissing him. That's the first thing that registers in Ichigo's mind. And he knows he must be blushing because he's pretty sure that his own skill is clumsy and nonexistent. It's his first kiss, after all. His mind goes blank. He registers soft and warm, arms around him, and Ichigo sort of leans against Jyuushiro, not minding one bit to his own astonishment._

_The older man comes to his senses pretty quickly. He pulls away, and there's a look on his face. Not quite horror, but definitely an "Oh, shit." Like he has just realized he's done something he shouldn't have or probably wasn't allowed to. Ichigo's been harboring his own crush for awhile and hasn't really realized that it is reciprocated. Until now._

_His blush burns a bit brighter._

" _I--"_

_Jyuushiro seems at a loss for words. And Ichigo is pretty sure that the first ones he'll find will be an apology of some kind. He's still in Jyuushiro's arms, and he wonders when the captain will realize that. Well, that and the fact Shunsui is watching them so obviously, a look of wolfish glee on his face._

_Ichigo kisses him again, just to prove that he doesn't mind one bit and well… because he wants to. He's probably even more unskilled than before, but he supposes he has plenty of time to learn. Jyuushiro makes a little noise of surprise and then returns the rather chaste kiss warmly. His fingers pressing gently against Ichigo. He smells of battlefields, steel and blood and smoke. But beneath it all is something purely Jyuushiro. He can't really define it._

" _This is probably a bad idea," Jyuushiro murmurs against his lips as he draws back from the brief touch. "A very bad idea."_

" _Is it?"_

_Jyuushiro hesitates, his dark eyes searching Ichigo's face. "You are very young, Ichigo. A certain sense of propriety is relevant here."_

_Ah, he hasn't really thought about that. This idea of a crush, of liking another person, is still somewhat new to Ichigo. It had taken him a while to admit it to himself. He never expected to admit it to Jyuushiro, and now, here they are._

Ichigo hadn't wanted to, but there were times back then he'd thought of who else Jyuushiro might have seen when he looked at Ichigo. And the war made it difficult for them to find time to pursue whatever it was blossoming between them. Jyuushiro only ever kissed him. Perhaps a few innocent gropes but never anything further. His sense of honor pretty much dictated that.

Honor. Ichigo wonders if he even has such a thing anymore. If he ever had it to begin with. It is strange. He's always thought nothing of destroying the Hollows. He's always justified it by saying that he is saving them. That he's relieving them of their loneliness and their hunger by letting them move on.

Somehow, he can't justify Ulquiorra. He wants to. He thinks it will be easier to forgive himself if he can just convince his own convictions that he's done the right thing. Ichigo doesn't ever want to take a life again. Not with the burden such a deed places on him. Not even the enemy. No one. It's too heavy.

_Laughing. Cackling really. And rip, rip, rip, tearing. Blood splashes everywhere, and he feels the force of the blow reverberate through his fingers. But it's not him. It's not him; it's Shirosaki. And Ichigo snarls, fighting to regain control._

_He sees the world through tainted eyes, feels his body move of its own accord. No! This is his body, his existence! Dammit, you have to--_

_Shirosaki laughs, and a limb goes flying. Ulquiorra can't keep up to Ichigo – no, Shirosaki's – speed. He's flung across the room. Shirosaki chases him down relentlessly, like a beast and its prey._

_Ichigo digs in his fingers, draws on Zangetsu's strength. He has to stop this. It isn't how he wanted to win. It's not how he wants to defeat Ulquiorra. Green eyes are empty, and for the first time, he sees a spark of something that might be fear. He's going to die, and Ichigo can't stop it._

_They're calling for him. He wants to stop. He wants to, needs to, **has** to. _

_This is_ _**his** _ _battle, bastard. He's going to fight. Ichigo screams, howls, grabs Shirosaki by his white hair and pulls. The Hollow screeches in fury, tries to resist. But this is Ichigo's body; he's not giving up that easily. He wrests control, curls his fingers around his own zanpakutou--_

_\--and blinks at the harshness of the light, at wet warmth that splatters across his face. It smells and tastes like blood as Ichigo spits, gagging. In the back of his mind, Shirosaki howls with laughter as Ichigo stares into Ulquiorra's disbelieving eyes, the Espada cleaved in half right before him. He unconsciously rips his blade free, and Ulquiorra topples, tattered wings twitching behind him._

" _I... What the hell?"_

_Ulquiorra looks at him, at least emotion in his gaze. It's hatred. And shock. Confusion. He doesn't know what's happened to him anymore than Ichigo does._

_Ichigo doesn't want it to end like this. He doesn't want his victory to be like this._

_Ichigo doesn't want to kill._

_The Espada's mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but nothing emerges. And the edges of his body crumble and darken, fading to ash. His wings are already gone, flittering into the smoke that clogs the battlefield. Ichigo drops Zangetsu from nerveless fingers, flinching at the resulting clatter. He is sure his horror must reflect on his face._

_Ichigo watches, unable to look away, as Ulquiorra crumbles into dust. His own body aches and groans with pain. He is covered with blood, most of it not his own. He can't completely remember the last ten minutes. He thinks that the destruction that surrounds them must be partly his fault._

_Ulquiorra is dead, and Ichigo's the one who killed him._

The guilt tries to swallow him whole. Rukia never understood that, how Ichigo had died just a little inside. To her, the rules are simple. Ulquiorra is the enemy. He is an abomination. He should be dead. Ichigo is right to have killed him. She doesn't understand why he feels so tainted, polluted by something that has nothing to do with the Hollow inside of him.

Death should not come that easy to him. He was a kid then. Just a teenager. And she acted like he should be able to take that sort of thing in stride. Like he's been killing all his life and what's another one to add to the list? And Ichigo couldn't explain to her why Ulquiorra is so different. He just knows it is.

She didn't understand. And in the end, it wasn't her that helped him.

_Hands are on his shoulders, and Ichigo blinks out of a daze, where he's been staring into nothing. Or truthfully, the spot where Ulquiorra had been lying. There's a dark film coating the sand and rock, but that's all that remains. There's nothing left of the Espada. Except the blood that stains Ichigo's clothing._

" _Ichigo," someone says, and he knows that voice. It is accompanied by a squeezing of strong fingers. "Come away. We need to get you cleaned up."_

_He suspects that they – two because one is rarely without the other – are exchanging looks behind his back._

_Jyuushiro's additional comments are in a soothing tone, like one would use when speaking to a frightened animal. "You're injured, Ichigo," he murmurs. "We need to get that taken care of."_

" _It's not mine," Ichigo whispers, and his voice croaks alarmingly. He's still staring. "The blood... it's not mine."_

" _We know," Shunsui replies, and he turns Ichigo away with a touch. Gentle but firm. "It's okay."_

_Somehow, that makes it hurt all the more. Ichigo doesn't say anything more. He can't. There's something lodged in his throat, preventing him from speaking. He stares as they pull him away from the battlefield, barely cognizant of the clean-up. Checking for survivors and the injured, seeing if any of the enemy remains. Another day, another clash. Tomorrow looks to be blood-red as well._

_He barely notices as they usher him to one of the med tents. Help strip him of his clothes. Bathe him. Someone's had enough sense to grab Zangetsu for him. Probably Jyuushiro. And Ichigo is glad that he is there. He feels the warmth of Jyuushiro's fingers and clings to it, relieved for the support. It makes him feel a little less poisoned._

_They talk over and around him, about anything and everything. It's something like normal, even if Ichigo keeps staring at the wall like some sort of empty doll._

_It's only when they are surrounded by silence and away from prying eyes that they actually address him, propping Ichigo between the two of them. Keeping his zanpakutou close, Zangetsu reverberating a worried sort of hum._

" _It will get better," Shunsui tells him, arm warm around his back in a one-sided hug. The kind that Isshin has never dared give but he so desperately needed after his mother died. "I promise that it'll get better."_

_Jyuushiro presses in close from the other side, hand grasping Ichigo's to keep it from balling into a fist. "Maybe not today. Or even tomorrow. But it'll get better," he affirms softly._

_And it is something in his voice – in both their voices – that makes Ichigo believe. That lets him rest his head on Jyuushiro's shoulder and allow his eyes to close with relief._

" _It will never be easier. But it will get better."_

Their words didn't exactly mollify him. They didn't heal him or make it any better. But Ichigo liked hearing them. He liked the fact that they were there, understanding without shaking their heads at his foolishness. That neither looked at his red-rimmed eyes with disgust. Or commented on how long he held on. That they never spoke of that night without Ichigo mentioning it first, and that when Rukia returned the next morning, they pretended like nothing had even happened.

Unohana is – was – good for that, too. She never laughed at him. Never mocked the fact that he had so much trouble controlling his reiatsu. Even Yoruichi-san had trouble not showing her annoyance at times. Looking like she wanted to throttle him when he failed time and time again.

But Unohana-san was always the epitome of patience. Always gently urging him on.

_She smiles at him, seeming rather ferocious for all the kindness that she normally exudes. "Try it again, Kurosaki-kun," Unohana insists, standing back as he pants and sweats and feels like he's going to_ _**die** _ _right here and now._

_Ichigo resists the urge to glare because he has the feeling he would be threatening his own life to be so rude to her. Unohana-san somehow has the unique ability to terrify him and calm him all in the same moment. He thinks for a moment that he understands why Kenpachi avoids the fourth division._

_Rather than say something smart, Ichigo merely nods and takes in a deep breath. He concentrates, focuses on the feeling of the reiatsu surrounding his body, and tries to pull it in. He is overcome with the sensation of being swallowed by power, the pulse and press of it knocking at the thin restraints of his control. It's almost painful but oh-so-necessary, as Unohana has reminded him of time and time again._

" _You are doing very well," she murmurs, and it should sound patronizing; only, it doesn't._

_Instead, it encourages him, even as sweat beads on his forehead and his skull pulses. He desperately needs sleep, but as Unohana has pointed out, he is harming others with his wild reiatsu. A sense of control must be maintained. It's the only reason he's agreed to her demonic, grueling lessons._

" _Don't think of it as a box," his teacher continues, her tone a soothing murmur as Ichigo pants to keep it inside. "Think of it as a cloak or an article of clothing. A blanket you wear close to your body but never beyond it."_

_Okay, that imagery is more helpful._

_Ichigo nods and is treated to a warm smile as he focuses. Breathe in. Breathe out. His reiatsu is a cloak. His reiatsu is a cloak. Ack, the wind got it._

" _Kurosaki-kun, you're slipping." Perhaps a bit of amusement in that chastisement._

_This is going to take a while._

He remembers that Unohana-san and Kyouraku – call me Shunsui – had taken over most of his training by that point except for whenever the geta-boushi taught him. And he wonders if Yoruichi-san thought herself well rid of him. But then, she had her mind on other things. On her own problems.

_He never liked Soifon. She was cold and arrogant. Unfeeling except for her former captain. And her eyes never gave her away like Byakuya's did._

_But that still doesn't mean he wanted her dead. That he wanted her to suffer such a fate. And suffer she did. Blood and agony and screaming that echoes so loudly he can hear it even as far away as he is. But all he could do is watch Yoruichi-san streak by as he battles his own opponent. Only have Chad half-carry him back to the medical tents afterwards, hesitantly wondering what happened._

_The orange glow of Inoue's Shun Shun Rikka blocks off most of Ichigo's senses, but it doesn't stop his sight. He can still see Urahara and Yoruichi, the former trying to catch the latter before she vanishes. Grief is a pained mask on the woman's face, her arms carrying Soifon's broken body reverently._

_The blond is trying to stop her, but Yoruichi won't let him. She'd rather deal with her pain by herself. And physically shoves him away. The cast to her face is enough to keep him on the ground, on his knees as she stalks by him._ _The geta-boushi is torn as he watches her disappear from sight. His hat is in the dirt beside him, and Ichigo can see the agony reflected in his eyes as he stares after her for what surely must be an eternity._

_But then, his gaze drifts over and meet's Ichigo's own. A thousand things visible in the grey depths of his eyes and each one completely unnameable. And something on Ichigo's face must have been equally sorrowful, just as pleading because Urahara stands and draws closer then. Kneeling down just out of Inoue's range. Sitting so close to the edge of the healing field that Ichigo's fingers brush his leg. And he stays there long after Inoue herself has left._

But Yoruichi wasn't the only to know loss. To feel like her soul was ripped to shreds. Losing Renji was horrible. Excruciating. But he can't even begin to fathom what it was like for Jyuushiro. Who had known Shunsui for so very long. Or for Yumichika-san. He'd lost Ikkaku. His best friend. His family. Ikkaku had died bravely. Stupidly, some would say. Ichimaru Gin was way out of his league. Way out of even Ichigo's league. And he had cut through Ikkaku like the man wasn't even there. Like he wasn't made of flesh and bone but only air.

_Ichigo didn't see him die. Didn't even know about it until later. Until he stumbled upon them on a grassy spot not too far from the eleventh division. The dirt is still fresh, still newly moved. But all the worse for that._

_Kenpachi is holding Yumichika upright and using all of his strength to keep the man from running off to what will surely be his own death. The normally composed fifth-seat is wild._ _ **Feral**_. _Eyes now a dark and venomous purple. The scar across his face angry and red, a mark courtesy_ _of that freaky Arrancar Wonderweiss. His fingers are like claws, digging into Kenpachi's arm, but the captain's face is a mask._

_Yachiru isn't on his shoulder, instead standing to the side, eyes brimming with tears as she quietly sobs. Renji is next to her, cleaned up but out of it, hair hanging all around his face. But he just doesn't seem to care. To even realize as Yachiru digs her mouth into his hip and sobs brokenly. Crying the tears Yumichika can't seem to shed._

_Ichigo just backs away. Knowing that he shouldn't intrude on such a moment. On the grief of people who don't know how to grieve. On a family who has just lost such an integral part._

_Ichigo just walks way. But even when he reaches Jyuushiro's house, his ears still ring with the force of Yumichika's shrieks._

A sob catches in his throat then. But he stifles it as quickly as it rises. He remembers what happened that day. The way Jyuushiro took him inside. How they curled up on the porch together and stared out into the garden. How Shunsui came by later, offering sake as always and quick to tell some story from his academy days. Something just to make Ichigo laugh.

But later, even the laughter died away. Until there was no more Shunsui. Until there was still a Jyuushiro but not with him.

_Ichigo tries not to flinch, but his entire body twitches anyway. It's been through too much lately. Slashed and stabbed and bitten, healed again, only to repeat the cycle. His skin is tired of being mended, his blood thin from constantly being replaced. There is a strain on his body, and he honestly can't remember the night he slept without being woken by a shrill scream or a cry of terror or a call to join battle again._

" _How's it look?" Ichigo asks and winces when it comes out hoarse, barely sounding like himself._

_Urahara tosses him a wan grin, a pale shade of the usual humor that he is used to seeing. "Don't worry. Yamada-kun's good at his job. There won't even be a scar."_

_Not that Ichigo really cares about scars. He's got too many to count anymore. He's used to the sight of them on his body. After all, Inoue couldn't heal him after every battle. She tries, but he tells her to treat the more critically wounded first. Ichigo's pretty sure that he'll live through this little hint of damage. The war's over._

" _I know," Ichigo murmurs, much to Hanatarou's blushing and stammering. "I trust him."_

_Urahara hands him something, a wet cloth to wipe at his face. He registers that he still has blood clinging to his skin. Ash and soot. He's such a mess. Ichigo accepts it gratefully, trying not to disturb the healer as Hanatarou works on his thigh. He fucked it up by standing to talk to Jyuu-- Ukitake._

" _You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."_

_Ichigo snorts. "It wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to say lying down."_

" _He would have understood."_

" _Maybe." Ichigo lets his hand fall over his eyes, shielding them from Urahara's probing gaze. "He doesn't understand me."_

_The shopkeeper's response is noncommittal. "Circumstances weren't exactly the best at promoting that sort of thing."_

_Ichigo's lips curl in some parody of an amused smile. "Are you standing up for him?"_

" _I just want you to see that there are other things to consider." Urahara's fingers brush across his arm where he gently unravels the bandages, giving Hanatarou more room to work with. "You won't--"_

" _It's over," Ichigo says on the end of a heavy exhale. Tries to ignore the tightness in his throat. "And I'm not entirely sure there was ever a beginning."_

But the betrayal didn't end there.

" _What the fuck! You can't be serious!" Ichigo growls, body trembling with restrained fury as he barely stops himself from launching at the messenger from Soul Society._

_Urahara's hand on his arm might have something to do with it. He forgets sometimes, just how strong the blond is compared to himself._

_The man – looks to be a member of the second division – doesn't even flinch in the face of Ichigo's rage. And behind Ichigo, he can hear Inoue's startled sound of surprise. Her terror is palpable. He hadn't stormed into Hueco Mundo to save her for Soul Society to go and pull this shit!_

" _Chamber 46 has made its decision," the messenger states doggedly, straight-backed and looking as if he's prepared for a fight. He probably has companions somewhere, watching to see what Ichigo will do. "We cannot afford to take the risk."_

_Ichigo spits a foul curse, feeling Urahara's fingers tighten. "_ _**You** _ _can't afford?" he retorts, and nausea curls in his belly. He can't believe this. "She fuckin'--"_

_Another hand settles on his arm, gentle and filled with calm. It's not Urahara's. And he stills, turning to see Orihime looking at him. She's smiling through eyes filled with tears and fear. It's seeing her trying to be brave all over again._

" _It's okay, Kurosaki-kun," she tries to assure him, feeling the trembling of his body, Shirosaki stirring beneath the surface. "This power wasn't even mine in the first place, right?"_

_Ichigo just stares as Inoue stammers over her words, trying to justify Soul Society's cowardly decision when she herself is frightened._

" _You gave it to me, and I used it for you. So now that the war is over, I don't really need it anymore anyway. And they're right. We don't want Aizen-sa... Aizen coming back or anything. That would be bad. So it's okay."_

" _No, it's not," Ichigo forces out, hating when she flinches at his harsh tone. "It's not fucking okay. This is your life, not theirs. They can't make that decision for you!"_

_She shakes her head, and he can't help but wonder when the hell she got so strong. How can she just stand there and agree to this? How she can allow the very same people she saved so many times to dictate her life?_

_And something a lot like rage burns in his veins, but Urahara is drawing him away. Pulling him through the doorway. Dragging him down the hall of the shouten to his own bedroom. The only place in the shop no one will dare follow them. He somehow manages to slide the door shut with both arms locked around his captive. A feat that would normally impress Ichigo. But he's too pissed to even notice._

" _I can't believe—"_

" _Ichigo." Urahara's voice breaks through with just that one word, a whisper across his neck. "If she doesn't give up her powers, they will execute her."_

_He suddenly can't breathe. "They wo--"_

" _They will," the blond insists. "You know they will. And before that they'll snoop around. Try to ferret out any other dangers we carry."_

_It goes without saying what he means. And with the Shinigami so close, Urahara doesn't dare even whisper the word Vizard._

" _She is trying to protect us. Protect you," he adds the last in the faintest murmur, lips just behind Ichigo's ear. "Let her do this._ _ **Please**_ _."_

_Ichigo bites his lip, but he can only nod. Still held too tightly to do anything else._

_But in the background, he feels her reiatsu drop and then vanish completely. And only Urahara's arms around his shoulders contain the shudder of fear that goes through his entire body. He only can guess what they'd ever do to him if they learn about his Hollow._

And how right he was to fear that. How right Urahara was to warn him. It's like Ichigo lived at the edge of a knife these last few years. Just waiting for them to figure it out. Urahara his only real solace. His only real friend.

He owes the man a lot. And Ichigo knows it. Knows that he never would've made it this far without him. Without the geta-boushi looking out for him. Supporting him when he really needed it.

He thinks it interesting that when it came down to it, it wasn't Rukia who came to him. Or Chad. Or Inoue. It was Urahara. The voice of reason when the chaos inside Ichigo railed at its confines and struggled to break free. When war had too much weight on him. He was just a teenager, after all. He thinks a lot of them conveniently forgot that.

" _Kuchiki-san is looking for you."_

" _Not right now," Ichigo mutters, and even to himself, his voice sounds flat. Lifeless. His hands are clenched so tightly that they hurt. He can still see it, bright and vivid. "_ _ **Too late, too late, too late**_ _"_ _an ongoing chant in his brain._

_Feet appear in the corner of his vision, not that he hasn't recognized the voice. Urahara-san stands next to him, face readable for once. That stupid hat is gone, dropped down to his side where he holds it with one hand. Grey eyes are thoughtful and understanding._

" _She's worried."_

" _She needs to look after herself."_

" _So am I."_

_Surprised at the frank admission, Ichigo looks at the shopkeeper, actually looks at him. And indeed, there is worry. Perhaps a touch of grief as well. Urahara had known Renji, had helped teach him a little bit. They hadn't been as close but close enough. No doubt he knows the sorts of things that are running through Ichigo's mind right now._

_**Too late, too late, too late.** _

_Urahara reaches, and Ichigo's too surprised by it to avoid. A hand settles on his shoulder, squeezing warmly._

" _You can't be everywhere at once," the blond says, as though it's the most logical thing in the world and Ichigo should just accept that integral truth. "Abarai-san was a warrior like yourself. I can imagine he was prepared."_

_Ichigo snorts, and his knees wobble. He drops to the ground to avoid looking weak, finding it easier to sit and stare across the remains of a battlefield. Blood and smoke and charred remains and twisted bodies. It makes him sick._

_The shopkeeper follows him down, a warm and familiar presence at Ichigo's side. He could lean on him if he wants, and the pain in his heart seems to demand it. Ichigo feels the heat burning at the back of his eyes and blinks it away again. Renji would have teased him for it. Teased but not mocked. He remembers watching Renji watch Ikkaku's grave._

" _I hate this," Ichigo mutters, digging the heels of his palm into his burning eyes. And inwardly, he curses Aizen and wishes he could remember who took down Grimmjow. Wishes he didn't feel so much like it was his own fault._

" _I know." Urahara's shoulder is a comfort against his, and Ichigo leans just a bit further, drawing strength from that familiarity._

" _I wish..." Ichigo trails off, keeping the rest of it to himself._

_Urahara wisely doesn't prod him to continue._

_He wishes he never agreed to help Rukia. He wishes he hadn't let Grimmjow live. He wishes to be the ignorant teenager he used to be. He wishes for a lot of things._

Ichigo moans, a low and terrible sound, feeling as if it's pulled from his chest. He wants to make it stop, to cease remembering. But now that he's started, it's just not going to leave him alone. This is the reason he's avoided Soul Society. This is the reason he turned down the captaincy. This is the reason he can't forget.

They call him a hero. He wishes he knew what that really meant. Heroes are supposed to save everyone. Heroes don't let anyone die. Heroes don't make mistakes. Heroes _always_ get the girl and celebrate their victory in some spectacular way.

They don't wake up every night, sweating from nightmares that are actually just re-lived memories. They don't regret their choices, regret not being fast enough or strong enough. They don't regret ever picking up a sword and fighting in the first place. They don't fear the things they've seen.

_Aizen stands there, as if he were lord and master of his domain, paying no attention to the crumbling of his army around him. He faces off against his opponents as though they are mere fleas on his path to victory. He is suave and even, despite knowing that Gin is dead and Tousen is dead and all he has left are the tattered remains of his Espada._

_Ichigo can only see glimpses of the stand-off from a distance, distracted by his own battle and worries. He can't let anyone else die. He's clenched his teeth and vowed this._

_He sees Aizen's adversaries in profile, resolute and determined. He thinks it's the first time he's ever seen Shunsui so serious, missing his trademark hat and haori, blades already drawn as the wind whips his hair around. Grief lines his expression. Ichigo remembers that the old man is one of the recent fatalities. Caught in a crossfire, protecting one of the lower-seats, making the mistake of taking his eyes off Aizen for a brief moment..._

_Not even Ryuujin Jakka's flames were strong enough to burn through Aizen's illusions. Not even the old man was powerful enough to prevent his own mind from betraying him._

_Ichigo is forced to tear his gaze away as he crosses blades with some of the minions scattered around. But he still feels the weight of their reiatsu above him, blanketing the entire area. Shunsui's is edged with anger and grief. Fury at having his home and his family threatened. Fury at the treachery._

_And Shinji's... Shinji's is a mass of vengeance, of cool calm masking the sorrow that lies beneath. He's seen two of his own fall in the war. Dying for the Shinigami when Soul Society hadn't given a damn about the Vizard before. That's to be blamed on Aizen, too. And it's clear that Shinji intends to return it in full._

_Ichigo tiredly lifts Zangetsu, cuts down a Hollow, crosses blades with an Arrancar. And winces under the weight of their clashing. He can't quite describe the breadth of Aizen's reiatsu – Shinigami and Hollow entangled in one. Vizard. He doesn't like to admit that it's kind of familiar, not unlike his own._

_Too much like his own as Aizen decapitates Kyouraku Shunsui with a fierce but elegant side-swing. And even from the distance, even through his own blood turning to ice, Ichigo can see the surprise flicker across Aizen's face. See shock plain as day. Watch him barely move in enough time to prevent his own demise at Shinji's hand. And take a shunpo to the side to collect himself for all of a heartbeat before Shinji is on him again. He recovers by that point. Mask sliding back into place, but there is something almost mechanical to his movements for all that they are smooth and even. Like he isn't himself. As though he has just made a tremendous miscalculation and has no idea how to backtrack and correct._

_But that is the last Ichigo sees of them as another few dozen Arrancar launch in his direction. As they scrape and bite at his skin. And all thoughts of Shunsui and Shinji and Aizen flutter away as he is set upon. As he fights and claws his way free, not daring to use his mask but on the edge of it before Urahara comes to the rescue. And even then, he is nearly too late. It takes both Hanatarou and Tessai to keep Ichigo alive this time. And Shunsui is beyond help by the time they get to him._

_And for all that it is supposed to be the final battle of the war, Ichigo thinks that it is the worst one._

Ichigo takes a shuddering breath and does everything in his mind to chase that recollection away.

Happier memories. Ichigo thinks that there might be some of those in there. If he can only grab onto them. Sand slipping through his fingers. Trying to catch a fish with his bare hands. Behind the darkness and the blood. Before the sob breaks free from his throat

There.

" _Senpai?"_

_Jyuushiro makes a face, and Ichigo smirks at it._

" _Please, don't call me that, Ichigo. It makes me feel old." And before Shunsui can even say whatever it is that dances on his tongue, Jyuushiro shoots him a hard look. "Not a word, Shun. Not a word."_

_Ichigo can't help but laugh. Sometimes, he forgets just how old the Shinigami can be. Jyuushiro looks barely thirty – if that – but he's probably thousands of years older than him. Thoughts like that tend to remind Ichigo of the differences between them._

" _What should I call you then?" Ichigo asks with honesty. Still not entirely certain where they stand._

_The older man leans in then, lips brushing and body pressed in close. "Jyuushiro," he says, voice gone husky and eyes dark. "Call me Jyuushiro." He kisses Ichigo then, not at all caring about his audience._

Even this is bittersweet.

_Ichigo's legs don't really want to support him, but he forces himself to stand anyway. He can feel Urahara lingering behind him, observing but not saying much of anything. Not just yet._

_And in front of him, Jyuushiro stands. Looking tired and drawn, making Ichigo's heart clench just a little. There's desperation in his face. Ichigo struggles to not be swayed by that look. He can't tell Jyuushiro what he's really thinking, how much he hates what he's become, so he evades it._

" _We need you, Ichigo," Jyuushiro says again, but the part Ichigo really wants to hear, remains unspoken._

_Soul Society needs him; he gets that much. They need another captain to fill in the blanks, someone they can trust. Jyuushiro needs and wants an ally, especially now that his heart is already breaking. They need Ichigo's bankai and his skills. But Jyuushiro doesn't say that he needs Ichigo._

_He shakes his head. "I..." Ichigo pauses, frustrated that he doesn't have the right words. He's never been good at this. "I can't." He won't, but that's not what he wants to say._

_Behind him, Urahara shifts, perhaps noticing Ichigo struggling, and steps forward. "Ichigo, you should be in bed," he says. Half-sternly, half-softly. "You shouldn't even be having visitors."_

_There is a flash of guilt across Jyuushiro's face. His eyes flickering to the bandages strewn across Ichigo's torso and upper thigh, pressed to his forehead, wound about an arm. He's lucky he came out of this in one piece, instead of several. And that's only the physical injuries. There's nothing to show for the ones inside, the empty places where Renji should be. And Shunsui. And countless others he didn't know but feels the loss of regardless._

_Ichigo drags his gaze back to Jyuushiro, ignoring the dizziness and the pain that strikes through him. Jyuushiro just looks at him. And his eyes say a thousand things, but his lips don't move. All Ichigo can feel in that moment is the heat of Urahara's hands as they support him, and he really wants to go to Jyuushiro, wants to take that step forward. But he lacks the energy. He's just so very tired._

" _You need to leave now," Urahara finally breaks the silence between them. "Give it a few more days. He needs to rest."_

_Jyuushiro nods and then hesitates. He is on the cusp of stepping forward, but instead, he moves back. And his hand, which seemed to have lifted of its own accord, drops back to his side._

" _I'll be back later," he promises. Tone so full of conviction and need that Ichigo feels his heart burn in his chest. "I'll come back."_

_But he never does._

Ichigo's fingers tighten into white-knuckled fists, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. He feels the wall against his back. It's too cold in the room, or maybe that's the emotions of his own body. He can't breathe, can't think, chokes back a sob. He can't escape either. Not from the past, not from Soul Society.

It cycles again. Always reminding. Never letting him forget.

_Blood and terror, it soaks into the battlefield. Ichigo battles away a Hollow's claws and cuts it down..._

 


	11. Comfort

They both watch Ichigo leave in silence. Not daring to look at anything but him and most certainly not each other. However, Aizen snorts once Ichigo's departure has him out of earshot, and his gaze flickers to the man left with him.

"Not interested, Urahara?" he asks ironically, turning towards the shopkeeper. "I find that rather hard to believe." His voice is full of mockery.

Kisuke can't help but bristle at the implication, even though his heart is already torn with concern for Ichigo. He isn't acting like his normal self, not that he has for several years now. Kisuke can't help but be worried. Ichigo is notorious for bottling things up, and with recent events as they are, he knows that any sort of silence or easy capitulation isn't good. And even though he wants nothing more than to follow, he knows what implications that could mean.

"Perhaps the intricacies of a friendship are beyond your understanding," he retorts instead as he angles his body towards Aizen, wanting the man in his sight so long as they are in the same room. "But don't impress your insinuations on me."

That infuriating calm remains in Aizen's expression as he lifts his brow. "A lot of words where a simple denial would have sufficed," he comments, voice effecting a note of superior disbelief.

Kisuke tightens his hand into a fist as his fingers tingle menacingly. "What game are you playing?" he demands because he's certain Aizen is trying to lead him to something. Goad him to an altercation, to alter Ichigo's opinion of Kisuke so that he is more inclined to trust the former warlord.

As if that were going to happen. Ichigo might not have easily dismissed Aizen, but he remembers the face of the man behind the war. He is not going to be quick to trust. Besides, nothing short of homicide – and perhaps not even that – could ever get Ichigo to turn his back on a friend without the same happening first.

The brunet watches him with a smirk, as though reading his mind. "The same as you. At least, I am obvious in my intent to borrow Kurosaki-kun's skills." Aizen inclines his head, glasses catching a gleam from the overhead light.

"Borrow?" Kisuke repeats flatly and sneers. "You mean 'use.' God by proxy, Sou-kun? That's a new low, even for you." His fingers prickle with the urge to lash out, but he just curls them tighter.

"Kurosaki-kun is the best choice for the throne, aside from myself of course," Aizen returns, completely unperturbed by the accusation. Unflinching in the face of Kisuke's ire. "You cannot tell me you disagree?"

That might have been the truth, but Kisuke will never admit that aloud. Just because he shares the same distaste for Soul Society, does not mean he plans to walk hand-in-hand with Aizen-fucking-Sousuke to make things better. The idea of working with the bastard makes him shudder with his own feelings of betrayal. That would be like mocking the sacrifices of the departed. Kisuke can't do that. He _won't_ do that.

"I don't agree with you using him to further your own ambitions," the shopkeeper counters because someone has to look out for Ichigo's best interests; Aizen only has one person in mind – himself. "He deserves to have his own life. His own future free of you _and_ Soul Society."

Sliding fingers through tousled brown hair, Aizen's tone flattens. "Unfortunately, that is no longer an option for him," he retorts, and distaste for Soul Society practically emanates from him in waves.

Kisuke hates that they actually agree on a point, fists clenching even more. Though for a slightly different reason.

"It can be," the blond argues in return. "All we have to do is turn you in."

And oh, how he wants to. Though admittedly he doesn't quite trust them to do the job right this time either. He wonders why Aizen is worth a guardian angel. Worth the effort of saving. Why anyone would even bother. The one person he can think to dare such a thing is dead, killed by the man before him.

Aizen shakes his head. "Come now. You don't believe that will mollify Soul Society any more than I do." He gestures lazily. "Not when he was snatched right out from under their noses."

"It's a start."

"But not enough." The brunet laughs, and it's a cold sound. "Not when he is a Vizard. And wasn't that your doing?"

Kisuke's blood boils, fire racing through his veins. Even as there is a roaring in his ears. It takes everything within him not to lash out, not to strike, to kill. And only the reminder that Ichigo is just down the hallway, that he would undoubtedly see keeps his hands at his side. But even then, Kisuke can't help the burst of reiatsu that jumps free before he can control himself.

Aizen, in turn, sucks in a harsh breath and hunches over. One hand goes to his chest, as though he wishes to claw at his own heart. To force it not to tremble. His legs shake, eyes focused on the floor as he struggles just to breathe.

And for a moment, Kisuke actually forgets. Doesn't remember that this man before him is powerless. That the only strength he has is in his words and nothing else.

He cools at that realization and feels a flare of shame shoot down his spine. Kisuke has never been the type to kick a man when he is down, no matter what sort he is. And despite the fact that he loathes Aizen Sousuke more than he ever has anyone else, he can't help but regret his outburst. Regret that this man has such a strong hold on him that he can barely think straight.

Still, Kisuke can't apologize. Refuses to do so. He just waits as Aizen centers himself. Waits for him to straighten. His face is a mask then, dark eyes shaded and unreadable. But Kisuke still has the distinct impression that he is embarrassed, and some hateful part of himself relishes in that.

"Soul Society will not back down," Aizen says after a time. "You and I both know this. They will never let him free." His voice is strong once more, as though the last several minutes never happened.

"They might," the shopkeeper replies without thinking. "Ukitake--"

"Is weak," Aizen interrupts. "Whatever he might have once felt for Kurosaki-kun is irrelevant. He has the power but did nothing to help him. No one else in Seireitei is strong enough to challenge him now, and those closest – Kuchiki, Unohana, Hitsugaya – wouldn't even bother for this case. They are all three very fond of your charge, though they may not show it."

Kisuke can see the truth of that, even admit it silently to himself. And deep inside himself he knows that arguing further is useless.

But dammit if Aizen doesn't have a response for everything, and irritation curls in Kisuke's belly. Ukitake should have done more, but that doesn't remove Aizen's own role in all of this. Ichigo is suffering because of this man _again_ , and he refuses to think of his own lingering guilt. If only he had protected Ichigo better. If only he had encouraged Ichigo to join the Gotei 13 earlier. If only…

"He can never go back," the former overlord concludes.

Kisuke sniffs. "And I wonder who we have to blame for that?" he throws at the other man, as much an accusation as it is a rhetorical question. "You dragged him into this."

"Out of necessity. Eventually, the truth would have emerged." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. "This... _miscalculation_ merely sped up the process."

That Aizen is admitting any sort of mistake on his part comes dangerously close to an apology. And it nearly throws the blond for a loop, but he refuses to allow himself to become distracted by it.

"Miscalculation!" he repeats incredulously, his voice a low hiss in the room as it threatens to rise in his annoyance. "You ruined his life!"

Aizen inclines his head, sure of himself now. "And now, I'm trying to better it."

The shopkeeper snorts. "What makes you think that this plan is going to work when you couldn't even make yourself god?" Throwing Aizen's loss back into his face makes a small, petty part of Kisuke feel smug.

He wants this man to remember that he has failed before, that Kisuke has helped to tear him down. He wants Aizen to linger in it. To never forget that he is the one begging for help here, no matter what his manner may try to say.

Aizen doesn't even flinch. "If it is Kurosaki-kun, then there is no doubt in my mind." He sounds so certain and full of self-assurance that once again Kisuke almost finds himself believing. The same charisma that helped ingratiate Aizento his Shinigami, that must have made him the leader he was amongst the denizens of Hueco Mundo, it is still present. Muted and beaten but growing in strength the closer he seems to get to his goals.

Kisuke hates that about him. Not that there is much he likes.

"I won't let you use him." He squares his jaw; he won't allow Aizen to weasel his little manipulations into Ichigo.

But Aizen smirks, so damn full of himself. "Luckily for me, you're not the one who makes that decision."

The same homicidal urge as before rises up inside Kisuke, and he turns away in order not to follow through with it. He detests that Aizen is partly right.

"As if he will ever choose you." He steps away then but not before a parting shot. "Make yourself useful and clean the kitchen," he mutters, hating that it appears like a concession. He doesn't like Aizen thinking he's won. Even for an instant.

He asks himself again why he's allowed the bastard to stay here. Why he let Aizen to accompany him. It's too late to toss him out now because he suspects Ichigo will protest. He should have killed the traitor when he had the chance; Ichigo need not ever know what had happened to him.

Disgusted, Kisuke leaves the room on a sharp turn. If he talks with Aizen any longer, he'll want to hurt something. And as much as he would like nothing better than to squeeze the life out of the traitor, he has the feeling Ichigo wouldn't appreciate it so much.

He considers where he can go in this small house, all the more cramped thanks to Aizen's unnecessary ego. The main room has a television, but Kisuke's too restless to sit and stare. But there's something on the edge of his thoughts and senses, something that drives him to the hallway. He hasn't heard a peep from Ichigo since he left the kitchen. Somehow, that worries him.

Kisuke changes directions, heading for the bedroom, and that's when he feels it. A wave of misery and darkness, caught in the clinging tendrils of Ichigo's reiatsu. He's gotten better at being more contained, but no doubt the cuffs and the subsequent release of them threw that all out of his control.

Worry replaces annoyance, and Kisuke puts his hand on the side, sliding open the door. Ichigo is sitting on the bed, shoved into the corner, face buried in his arms with his knees up to his chest. And Kisuke again feels a spike of anger, of irritation with himself for not acting sooner. And fury with Soul Society for making things worse. He saves a good portion of his frustration for Aizen; that bastard is the cause of _everything_.

"Ichigo?"

The Vizard barely stirs, lifting his head as though a thousand weights hang from it. His eyes are red, but no tears line his face. At least, no fresh ones.

"I'm fine," he mutters, uncurling his fingers from his legs, gaze slipping to the side. "I'm fine."

He says it twice, but that only makes Kisuke believe him less. He's the furthest from fine at the moment. And the ex-captain has a pretty good guess what must be running through Ichigo's mind. He has the same problems himself. Waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. The people he couldn't save. The things he couldn't prevent. Accusations and blood and rage so bright and terrible that it burns away everything else.

"Liar." Kisuke sits on the edge of the futon, cautious and concerned. "Such a liar."

"No one asked you," Ichigo retorts dully, voice lacking its usual bluster and ire.

Kisuke misses that just a bit. The reckless and protesting Kurosaki-kun who Ichigo once was. Before the war and the blood that stains both of their hands. But at the same time, he can't help but be proud of the man Ichigo has become. Strong and self-contained. A friend. His dearest one now. He has told Ichigo things he has never confided to anyone else. Not even Yoruichi or Tessai or Shinji.

"Ichigo--"

"Don't." The Vizard cuts him off before he can offer a word, sucking in a shuddering breath that fails to reassure. "Just don't. I already know what you're going to say. I've heard it all before."

Kisuke searches for something to say. "You'll see them again," he murmurs, and it almost sounds like a promise. As though he vows to make it happen.

"I know." Brown eyes flutter, a brief moment of peace amid the chaos that glimmers in the background.

It's not just the present that's affecting Ichigo; it's the past, too. Kisuke can see it in the lines of his face. In the dissonance of his reiatsu, coiling around his body. He is pale, trembling, and Kisuke wonders if he even knows how to fix this.

"You should get some rest," he suggests, already knowing it is a paltry offering. Sleep never works for him, so he doesn't know why he wants it for Ichigo. Sleep doesn't bring peace, only opening up the subconscious to the things he wishes he didn't remember.

"No." Ichigo's hands rake through his hair but pause in the midst, pulling on the longish orange strands. His expression darkens with restrained emotion, the difficulty of someone trying to pull themselves together and failing miserably. "No, I'm fine."

"You're not."

"I _am_ ," Ichigo practically snarls, as if thinking he only has to say it firmly enough to make it true. To make himself believe it. Even if it's so obviously a lie.

The both of them know it.

He wants to offer comfort. He aches to see Ichigo in this much pain because he could have done something back then. Kisuke just doesn't know what Ichigo will accept. If the boy – no, man – would even let him. But then, he isn't like Yoruichi. Has never been like her at all. Willingly letting Kisuke move in closer until they are touching, arm to arm.

"Talk to me," he says finally, one hand drifting down to rest on Ichigo's.

"What good will that do?" Ichigo retorts, and it is almost bitter. "It's not going to make the nightmares go away, will it?" The demand is harsh, breathing sharp and frantic, barely contained. So close to the edge. But at least, he hasn't pulled away.

Kisuke's insides clench with unease and guilt. He never should have let Ichigo fight. He never should have given him the power to do so. He never should have given in and pushed him this far.

He opens his mouth to speak, though there are no words on his tongue, but Ichigo continues doggedly.

"I close my eyes, and I see them," he whispers, and Kisuke needs no elaboration to know just who Ichigo means. "I _see_ them. I can't make it go away. I can't _forget_." His fingers tighten around his hair, and Kisuke can't take it anymore.

He reaches up to snag the other hand and curls a tight grip around Ichigo's wrists. Forcing the Vizard to look at him and uncoil his hair from his own likely painful hold.

"Would it be easier if you could?" Kisuke demands, tone soft and careful. Even as he draws in closer to kneel between Ichigo's feet, practically in his lap.

It's not unlike facing a wounded, cornered animal. Ichigo is at a breaking point, and Kisuke wonders if lashing out will do the Vizard any good. He has always been one to internalize everything. His own fears and pains, his weaknesses. He never admits when he needs help. Ichigo never shares the burden.

Reddened eyes don't quite meet his. "Yes?"

And Kisuke looks at him. He knows good and well that's a lie, and damn it all, Ichigo is full of them today. He wants to forget, but he also wants to remember. Some of those memories are the last he has of what was precious to him. He doesn't want to forget Renji or Shunsui or the brave fight the other lost souls put forth. That would be a dishonor he isn't willing to commit.

Ichigo senses his disbelief without Kisuke having to say anything, and he crumbles. "Dammit," he curses under his breath, barely louder than a whisper.

His heart contracts painfully in his chest as Ichigo drags his gaze away, unfocused and unseeing. His friend's brow draws down, scrunching as he tries to repress a pain that's scrabbling to break free.

"I don't know. It's just--" His frustrated growl is accompanied by the sight of his fingers curling into fists. "I can't sleep anymore. I can't think."

Ichigo lifts his head again until Kisuke is suddenly aware of how close they are. Just a hairsbreadth away. His hair brushing the blond's forehead.

"I don't know what to do. I can't breathe. I--"

He kisses him. Kisuke doesn't know why he decides to do it. He just does. Perhaps to stop the broken words that don't make sense any more. Maybe because it hurts him to see Ichigo like this. He doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't know what else to offer because Kisuke never has been good at words, not where it really matters. He's just a scientist. A goofy, unsociable scientist who doesn't know how to handle this agony anymore than Ichigo does.

Ichigo stills in surprise, and Kisuke doesn't blame him. It's a first for him, too. But just when he thinks that he's committed some terrible affront to his dear student, the young man responds. Returning the kiss. Desperately, needfully. Tongue sliding across Kisuke's lips and touching his own, tasting like tea and sorrow. Like sin.

He can't stop the moan that digs itself from his gut, traveling up and rattling in his chest. Heat flashes through his body, fingers going slack around Ichigo's wrists. And Kisuke is filled with this incredible and sudden sense of desire and need and " _Can I have_? _Dear gods, please let me have..._ "

There is comfort here and familiarity. The warm touch of another person, so healing when all he remembers recently is the loneliness of cold sheets and echoing silence. For a moment, Kisuke forgets all the reasons he shouldn't do this. Not just for his own sake, but for Ichigo's as well.

He wants to melt into that familiarity. However, Kisuke forces himself to stop, breaking off and dropping his hold on Ichigo entirely. He's been able to feel his pulse through that touch, rapid but strong. The blond clears his throat, trying to ignore the haze of _want, want, want_ that is fighting to take over his rationality.

"I'm sorry," Kisuke says, licking his lips, tasting the last of Ichigo. "This is a bad idea."

"You started it," the Vizard retorts, and he doesn't sound angry. Just contemplating and perhaps annoyed because Kisuke is over _there_ when he should be over _here,_ kissing him again.

"I know, and I apologize." That's really all he can do. He can't sit here and do... _whatever_ this is. Ichigo is not exactly in a good place. He doesn't even know what he's thinking.

"Don't."

Kisuke isn't sure what Ichigo means by that and looks at him, the question on his lips. He sees it then, just a glimmer of its usual will, but it's there. A spark of his previous determination and stubbornness.

"I didn't ask for one," Ichigo retorts, and his tone takes an edge of bitterness. "I'm not a child. Not anymore."

He remembers in that moment Jyuushiro and Ichigo and what they could've had. How close he and Ichigo were. How they'd never gotten any further than chaste kisses and playful gropes. Ichigo was so young then. So very young. And yet, they'd still thrust him into that war.

But still, even now, he's fragile. Cracked but not broken. Kisuke might only be making things worse.

"I know what I'm doing," Ichigo adds, and his hand lands on Kisuke's thigh, warm and present. Squeezing meaningfully.

He says he does, but he probably doesn't. He's grief-stricken, stressed beyond belief and crumbling under the cards life has dealt him. Ichigo isn't thinking logically. He can't be. He doesn't know what he wants.

Kisuke shifts back, knowing he should make the smarter choice since he's the only one in the position to do so.

But…

"I feel like I'm taking advantage," he admits, unable to move more than a few inches.

Ichigo's fingers shoot out, grabbing his arm before he can retreat again. "Then, do it already," he almost snarls. "I can't... I don't want to think anymore. About anything." But suddenly, he softens, and his face is open in a way that is Kisuke's undoing. " _I need you._ "

And it's the most wonderful and terrible thing he has ever heard. The truth of it burning in Ichigo's eyes. Painful and heartbreaking. But hopeful.

Before Kisuke can entirely digest his words, can even think what to do, Ichigo crosses the distance between them. His kiss is unskilled but passionate. Lips hungry and seeking, asking for comfort. For him to make it better, even if only for awhile. Put a band-aid on the wound because it can be fixed later.

Kisuke wishes that he could form a coherent thought. But he can't. Ichigo is warm and pliant as his free arm snakes around, and the blond deepens the kiss, a groan rattling in his throat. He's hurting, and if this will help, Kisuke won't – _can't –_ deny him. He ignores all the reasons that this is a Very Bad Idea and drags his knuckles down Ichigo's back, a thrill running through his body at the sound of the resulting sigh.

It blurs, Kisuke losing himself to the sounds of rustling clothes and the feel of Ichigo's skin beneath his fingertips. They fall back onto the bed with a loud and somewhat embarrassing thump, but he is already too far gone to care. His leg slips between two thighs, nudging against a rising arousal. Fingers digging into the arms above him, pulling closer, needing contact.

He mouths Ichigo's throat, sweat and the taste of his skin, feels Ichigo swallow beneath his lips. The Vizard bucks up against him as Kisuke lowers his pelvis, and their groins collide, sending a moan through the shopkeeper that vibrates out of his throat. He's hot, burning, rubbing against Ichigo in all the best kinds of ways.

He can feel Ichigo's reiatsu, buzzing with power and emotion as it brushes against his own, setting his senses aflame. He's still there, the Ichigo who Kisuke knows. Reckless and burning beneath the surface. Determined and resolute, never giving up.

He tastes Ichigo's collarbone, licks over the paler-than-usual skin and is treated to an answering groan. Ichigo arches up against him, his hands tugging at Kisuke's clothing, sliding it up, his palms following. They are a hot presence against the blond's stomach and chest, setting goosebumps over his skin.

He wants. Oh, how he wants.

One hand slams against the futon for balance as Kisuke presses a second against Ichigo's burgeoning arousal. He strokes him over the cloth, unsure what to call the noises emerging from Ichigo but knowing that he likes them. That he wants to hear more.

"Ah, Urahara," he moans as Kisuke's fingers winnow their way beneath fabric, curling fingers around him, hot and hard.

But he can't have this.

"Kisuke," he murmurs into Ichigo's ear, breath a warm whisper. "My name is Kisuke," he corrects and drags his lips back around, needing and wanting to taste him.

Ichigo gasps, something like a sigh spilling into Kisuke's mouth. One hand pulls him closer, an iron clamp against the shopkeeper's back. Another shoves through the loose waistband of Kisuke's hakama, and damn if the blond isn't grateful that he doesn't dress more appropriately.

His fingers seek out Kisuke's rigid arousal and hesitate at the feel of dampness across the head before pushing forwards anyway. Kisuke shudders with want, never in his wildest dreams thinking that something like this would happen. Never thinking it was possible; he never even considered desiring it. He wishes he had sooner. Had realized what could be between them. They could've been doing this for months. Years even.

Their bodies move without any real direction, without any sort of finesse or skill. Just responding to hunger and desire, an edge of desperation coloring each pass of hand over skin, each careful stroke of Kisuke's fingers over Ichigo's length. Kisuke pulls back, his mouth hovering over another, their breaths mingling. And Ichigo arches beneath him, hips rocking hungrily.

Eyelids flutter over brown eyes, darkened with sorrow and need, beautiful. Kisuke nuzzles into his throat, feels the flutter of Ichigo's pulse against his lips. He murmurs something; he isn't sure what it is. Ichigo's name perhaps. It's all a blur to him. Of sound and scent and touch – hot flesh and pulsing need and dampness streaked across the pad of his thumb.

Kisuke wishes he were more coherent; that it isn't just this needy push towards release. He has thoughts of taking his time, of running his tongue over Ichigo's skin and watching arousal fill the Vizard's face. He imagines the noises that Ichigo might produce, and the thought only makes him that much harder. Blood rushes through his veins, and he can hear his own rapid pulse.

Ichigo sucks in a breath, heel sliding harshly across the futon as he surges upwards, a half-bitten cry tearing from his throat. Kisuke isn't sure if it's even coherent, barely notices as he feels warmth spill over his hand. Ichigo jerks and writhes beneath him, covered in a sheet of sweat and is oh-so-beautiful. It should be wrong to describe a man in such a way, but Kisuke can't honestly think of anything better.

He watches Ichigo come undone, and it is Kisuke's own undoing. He drags his hand from Ichigo's pants, and it slams against the futon, smearing a mess across the clean blankets. Pleasure shoots through his body in sharp staccato – _want, want, want_ – and into his core.

Kisuke captures the lips below his because he has to, the taste of him on his tongue as he moans into Ichigo's mouth. His hips sink down, rocking against Ichigo and likely crushing the fingers trapped between their bodies. Kisuke's too gone to notice as he splatters Ichigo's hand with his own release.

Panting, body thrumming, he deepens the kiss. It's not enough, and it's just perfect, and he wants to gather Ichigo into his arms and never let go. Kisuke doesn't know what to do with all these sudden – or maybe not quite – thoughts. And Ichigo's hand draws free from between their bodies, and it grips onto Kisuke's haori, pulling the shopkeeper down against him.

He tries not to put his weight on Ichigo entirely, shifting to the side. Kisuke cups his face with his free hand, letting the kiss turn languorous. Savoring it as he should have done from the beginning. Ichigo's reiatsu is a humming, quiescent presence against his own lapping gently like waves against a shore. And his eyes are open, staring into the blond's in such a way that he knows he is all Ichigo sees.

He ends the kiss gently, letting his fingers slip away from Ichigo's cheek as his head falls against the younger man's shoulder. Kisuke doesn't speak because he honestly doesn't know what he would say. He has mixed feelings about this – guilt and relief and happiness and desire – and he can't vocalize them without sounding like an idiot. He's almost afraid to ask what Ichigo thinks.

Thankfully, Ichigo doesn't speak either. Just breathes slowly, his heart returning to a more normal pace as his muscles gradually ease from their tension.

They lay there like that for several minutes, and Kisuke isn't surprised when Ichigo falls into exhaustion, his breathing now deep and even. He carefully eases back, glancing at the Vizard's face. The worry lines aren't erased from his forehead, but they are definitely less deep. He isn't displaying the same restlessness as before, and that's something to be grateful for.

Kisuke watches him sleep for awhile longer, reassuring himself that it's restful and Ichigo isn't going to wake anytime soon. And then, he eases himself from the futon, careful and slow, trying not to disturb his bedmate. It takes some amount of maneuvering to rescue his arm, and then, he's free and slipping carefully away.

Discomfort attacks as the sogginess in his pants becomes apparent. Kisuke winces, realizing that Ichigo must be in much the same state. Once again, he'll be undressing and cleaning the man while he is unconscious. It's become a habit as of late.

Kisuke creeps out of the room and across the hall, the silence of the house surrounding him. He doesn't know where exactly Aizen is, and frankly, the blond doesn't care. That is one disadvantage to the man lacking reiatsu. He has become rather difficult to sense. No wonder no one in Soul Society had realized he was alive up until this disastrous point.

He flips the light on in the washroom and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It is sad that he looks scarcely better than Ichigo, despite the satisfied gleam to his eyes. The years have not been kind to any of them. Or more truthfully, the _war_ has not left a kind legacy.

Kisuke glances away, busying himself with finding another clean washcloth. What is it about mirrors showing the things one doesn't want to see, doesn't want to admit? Amazing how they can only reflect what's in them, but there's always something else to see.

He ventures back into the hallway, still no Aizen in sight, and heads back into the bedroom. And then, he mutters to himself because he's tiptoeing around the house like a teenager who doesn't want daddy to know she just lost her virginity. Or maybe he's just not in the mood to put up with another verbal battle against his loathsome houseguest.

Ichigo hasn't so much as moved in his absence, which could be a good sign. Working quickly but carefully and feeling just a bit like a parent, Kisuke efficiently strips and redresses him once more. Except that the last thing he wants to be right now is anyone's father. Especially to this man. Especially after what they've just done.

Isshin is going to kill him. Scratch that, a lot of people are going to kill him. Shinji. Ichigo's sisters. Hiyori. Ukitake if they ever see him again. Tessai.

He could go on, but really, he doesn't want to think about all the homicidal people coming after him.

Ichigo taken care of, Kisuke grabs another pair of pants and slips out of the room, intent on cleaning himself up. Worry runs a steady course in the back of his mind, but what's done is done. He can't take it back, and Kisuke refuses to regret. Not when it is Ichigo. He cannot.

However, Aizen waits just outside the bedroom. He is simply standing in the hallway, and there is a look on his face that Kisuke can't quite interpret. He isn't sure he wants to.

Kisuke draws up short, matching Aizen stare for stare, despite his obvious disadvantage. He'll be damned if he lets Aizen intimidate him.

Kisuke doesn't regret anything. Not a damned thing.


	12. Interlude Two: Battle of One

He knows with the first breathy moan he hears exactly what they are doing. While he is a genius, it doesn't take one to figure it. To see the way Urahara watches the boy with something very different from parental concern. His former colleague may live in complete and utter denial, but he cannot hide the gleam in his eyes. Nor how they follow Kurosaki-kun no matter where he is in the room. The entire house could fall down around their heads, and Sousuke doubts that Urahara would notice unless a piece of debris hit the boy first.

And as he stands in the hallway outside their door, where he followed after Urahara not content with how their argument ended, Sousuke feels the thrill of satisfaction that he has once more been proven correct. But it is followed by a slight flicker of unease as he listens to the boy groan and say Urahara's name – his family name, no less – like it is a precious thing. Sousuke has to turn away when the man corrects him, when he actually has to tell his young lover to be more familiar.

The boy is young, little more than a child, and something a good deal like revulsion fills his belly at the thought that Urahara could be so utterly weak. So completely despicable to satiate his lusts at a time like this and under such circumstances. The boy has only just lost everything. Has only just been freed from prison and gods only know what manner of punishments and tortures. Urahara may think him subhuman, but Sousuke is not the only monster here. And he doesn't mean Kurosaki-kun's Hollow either.

Aizen Sousuke is many things. Murderer. Betrayer. Villain. But even this is beyond him. He may have lead Gin astray, may have incited him to kill and maim, but he never touched him beyond how a father or mentor should. Which is far more than he can say for Kurosaki-kun. Or for himself.

It is an abhorrent and wretched thing, and had he still his powers, he would give them the rudest interruption imaginable. But as he is now, he can do little more than straighten his back and force himself to stand there and be still. Now, is not the time to act without thinking. And truthfully, once Kurosaki-kun is thinking more clearly, once he understand who and what exactly now shares his bed and his body, he may be more willing to listen.

Sousuke has no doubt of the secrets still between them, Kurosaki-kun and his supposed teacher. The boy hasn't the faintest clue about the truth of his family, most especially his father and what occupation Isshin used to perform, or the myriad of relatives he still has in Soul Society. No idea that the blood flowing through his veins is some of the purest Seireitei has to offer. That if Chamber 46 only knew just who exactly they were dealing with, that they would come before him on bended knees and beg forgiveness. That there would've been no farce of a trial, much less imprisonment. That they would've smartly looked away and pretended to know nothing.

But Kurosaki-kun doesn't know. No one bothered to tell him. No one ever bothers to tell him anything. And as much as it would delight Sousuke to be the one who does, he knows that he won't be believed. Not now. Not this early.

He has to allow this to play out on its own. To only give the barest nudges from the sidelines. Subtle hints and soft directions. A supple and gentle hand to lead them where he wants.

But that is for later. For tomorrow. For when Urahara Kisuke's guilty eyes and reddening face do not meet his as the blond steps out into the hallway. Smelling of sweat and sex. _Sin_. The scent of Kurosaki-kun's innocence mixed with the stench and look of a man who has just done something heinous and knows it.

Sousuke can't resist the tongue-lashing that ensues. The following barbs that echo and strike all too accurately. And Urahara cringes like a kicked dog, like a man who realizes that he is little more than filth. His retorts are halfhearted at best, although a few do slither beneath his defenses. And only the lowest of the low would speak of the dead in such a manner, would dare mention Gin's name after what he has just done. And even he seems to comprehend that before he slinks off with his tail between his legs.

He watches Urahara leave with satisfaction before allowing himself a weary sigh. He slips down the hallway and into his own room, the space they have so graciously allowed him, and slides the door shut behind him. He has already memorized the layout and does not even need the light from the window to find his futon and ease between the covers. He curls on his side as always, back to the far wall and facing the doorway. Glasses set just above his head and within easy reach. He won't need them to fight, but it is still nice to have them there come morning.

Sousuke settles back into the futon. His nose still aches, but he puts the pain aside. Slowing his breathing into an almost meditative pattern. The same one he always used before entering his inner world. But it is also perfect for calming his ever working mind, for easing his way to unconsciousness. Especially these days. Alone and outnumbered as he is.

This will probably be the only opportunity for quite awhile to have a full and decent night's slumber. Especially since they'll wear each other out, and he won't be forced to sleep with one eye open. Perhaps even both since Urahara is sharing the same house. That man has undoubtedly done worse than murdering people in their beds; he was a member of the Onmitsukidoh, after all. And no telling what Shihouin Yoruichi had him doing in his spare time either. A little espionage here, some unjust imprisonment there. All followed up by a bit of child molestation to even out his day. His parents must have been so proud.

Regardless of that, it is Sousuke who finds himself between the proverbial rock and hard place. One of his new housemates is a man who would gladly murder him in his sleep. Who would slit his throat and dump the body in a dark alley if he thought for a second that he could get away with it. And the other is boy who was so recently his enemy, who cut through his precious Espada like tissue paper and kept going. That isn't even counting the fact that Sousuke had a hand in dismantling his entire life.

And yet, Kurosaki-kun isn't his enemy anymore. At least, he doesn't consider himself to be such. He hasn't run Sousuke through yet. Didn't turn him in the instant that he knew that the ex-captain was still alive. A possibility exists there. A chance to bring his plans and dreams into fruition. An opportunity to make it all – the pain and loss and crushing defeat – worth something.

So much lost… but if he can just persuade the boy, just make him see reason. Sousuke knows that he isn't the only villain of this story. Soul Society has played that role all too well since long before he ever graced the world with his presence. What he is, be it monster or man, it is all due to the Shinigami, the nobles. He is of their own making. The reflection cast in their own image. He learned treachery and cruelty at the knees of his parents, the perfect picture of all that Seireitei stands for and everything he despises. So completely weak but in positions of power, ignorant and pretentious and all too consumed with appearance over substance, over truth.

He mourns the loss of Kyouraku Shunsui, but the day his father died is probably one of the happiest in his entire life. He can still recall going to his room afterwards and laughing into his covers until he cried. The only thing that could've have possibly made it better was if Sousuke did the deed himself, but his father was bested by illness. At least, that is what everyone believes. He still has his suspicions about that, but he truly can't blame Retsu-san if she didn't use the full extent of her abilities on the man. She knew just what sort he was, and his loss was no real loss at all. Least of all to his younger son.

Aizen Yoshio remains unmourned, and his wife was all too quick to shove her eldest into the spotlight and then to search out a new husband after he too died. Sousuke honestly doesn't know what she, his mother, is doing these days, and he really doesn't care. If he is truly fortunate, she is dead. Perhaps even killed to ensure her only living child would receive no help from her quarter. As if she would give it in the first place. She never helped Sousuke when he was younger, when he had truly needed her, and only gained interest in him as he rose through the ranks. The first and only time she ever thought to kiss his cheek was when he became a captain, and he made it very clear that he did not wish for a repeat performance. She may have given birth to him, but that didn't really make her his family.

No, he doesn't mourn her potential loss either. Such sentiment is saved for others. For Shunsui, who taught him zanjutsu with a wide and proud grin. Ulquiorra, the favorite of his Arrancar children and the most believing in him. Even Kaname, the blind man who saw more clearly than all the rest.

And Gin… the boy he watched become a man. Who was so different but so much like Sousuke himself that they did not even need words between them. Who knew him for what he was the moment their eyes initially met. Their first conversation was over the body of a dead man, which should've been an indicator of their relationship. But he was a bastard and a child predator besides, no real loss. The real gem had been the boy who ended him. The prodigy. The Rukongai trash who blasted through records that had lasted since the founding days of the academy, many of them not even surpassed by Hitsugaya. They, these records, are doubtless the only written account of him left in Soul Society. All else would've been destroyed either during or right after the war; erasing and rewriting their history is rather commonplace in Seireitei.

Gin exists solely in memory now. In the minds of those who once thought to call him friend, Matsumoto and Kira-kun. Perhaps Retsu-san and Zaraki Kenpachi. Within Sousuke's own mind.

The image of him is still so clear, even as Sousuke drifts off to sleep. Silverish hair fluttering in the breeze, a stark contrast to the night sky behind him. Listening to him relate an amusing anecdote from his day. Face boyish and open as they sip from their cups. Always tea and never sake; neither of them have a taste for the latter. Gin because it reminded him too much of Rukongai. And Sousuke because it was and still possibly is his mother's vice.

If only Gin could see him now. He would laugh at the absurdity of the situation if he were here. If he could even laugh anymore. Kurosaki-kun would already be eating out of his hand. Gin always could be charming and friendly when he wished it. The light and shadows both. Bright but with darkness within. Unashamed to be himself and not what was expected.

He closes his eyes and can still see Gin's smile. Still hear his voice. The bright and cheerfully mocking tones. The way Sousuke would always find ready-made tea on his desk and knew without a doubt who was responsible. He still remembers the boy forever trailing behind in his shadow, so content to be there and nowhere else.

Still recalls the sight of his blood on the sand and how it took forever for him to fall. Life in slow motion. The look of determination mixed with regret on Kuchiki Byakuya's arrogant face as his blade strikes true. The fact that Sousuke's name is the last thing Gin ever says. Not begging but apologizing. Sad for his failure and wishing he could've done better.

If there is anything Sousuke regrets, anything he has ever regretted, it is this. The loss of this boy. And the fact that where he has gone, Sousuke can never follow. It makes him hollow inside. The ache worse even than the void left by Kyouka Suigetsu. Echoing and empty within.

And there is moisture on his face, in his eyes, but he refuses to let anything resembling tears fall. Sousuke has not cried since he was a boy, since the last time bruises dotted his flesh. He'd honestly forgotten how.

Yet now, in this place of all places, he finally starts to remember.

\---

They come for her while she's in the bath. Barging in with demands, only to bluster and blush their way straight back out. It would be funny if things weren't so damn serious, and Yoruichi can only sigh and slip into her clothing, her plans for the day now wrecked. But that thought crumbles away as she listens to their furious and heated tirade. And learns much to her unending chagrin that not only has Ichigo escaped from Seireitei, that he had been imprisoned in the first place. Something that she hadn't even realized.

She must be slipping in her old age. Either that or she is just too distracted these days. Too busy getting the Onmitsukidoh back into shape now that Soifon is gone. After all, it is her responsibility, and there is no way in seven hells that she is about to let that idiot now in command of the second keep it.

But surely, Ukitake had kept him from a jail cell, right? They were only supposed to be asking Ichigo to join the Gotei 13 again, weren't they? That was what her second had told her, but it looks like he was either misinformed or had outright lied. And either way, heads will roll. If not from her than at least from Ichigo's many friends. Byakuya. Hitsugaya. Zaraki and all the rest.

And Yoruichi soon learns that all her previous notions are most certainly incorrect. Ichigo isn't – wasn't – here for a friendly chat. He was here to be charged and sentenced. A Vizard, a criminal. And now, a believed traitor. Consorting with Aizen? Even a complete moron could see that one is a lie. The only thing Ichigo would be willing do with Aizen would be to stab him repeatedly.

But it isn't exactly like she can ask him about it. He's gone. Vanished into the night like a wisp of smoke. So completely evaporated that they don't even begin to know where to look for him.

Yoruichi, however, knows that Kisuke is involved. After all, when is he not? When these days can Ichigo be mentioned without Kisuke the quick addendum? Added on automatic and without conscious thought. He might not have freed Ichigo himself, but he's the reason they can't find anything. And she's willing to bet her entire fortune that when they finally think to go to the shouten that it won't even be there. Just as thoroughly disappeared as its owner.

Yoruichi only wishes that she could be there with them. That she isn't stuck here in Soul Society, for once living up to her responsibilities. But how can she not? How can she not do this for everyone who survived the war? How can she not do it for Soifon? For her memory if nothing else? How could she allow it all to fall apart after Soifon worked so hard to get it this far?

If there is ever a reason she feels guilt in her life of carefree nonchalance and adventure, it is that. Leaving Soifon behind. Missing so much of her life and not even caring that she did until her return. Saving Kisuke and the others was the right thing to do, and Soifon never would've understood why she was willing to risk so much for them, but she still wishes that things could've turned out differently. That she had bothered to do her job earlier and had caught on to Aizen and his schemes.

Shinji had tried to tell her several times, tried to say that he thought there was something wrong with the quiet and thoughtful man who was his lieutenant. But Shinji wasn't and still isn't the most reliable or believable of people, and Aizen was Kyouraku Shunsui's nephew, the closest he'd ever come to a son of his own. Unohana was his mentor and sponsor to the academy, and Ukitake was forever singing his onetime third-seat's praises. Aizen was probably the only reason the fifth division hadn't drowned in unfinished paperwork and unpaid bills, and the members of the division had always preferred him to their captain. It wasn't hard to see why Shinji might be a twinge jealous at all the attention or why he might be trying to see something that wasn't there.

And Yoruichi herself had been too busy causing mischief. Too busy with her flings and search for excitement to do her job properly. She knows now and can even admit it to herself that she let her position get to her head. She was a Shihouin, young and beautiful, powerful. Stronger than anyone for her family going back at least four generations. With servants to see to all her needs and people like Soifon able and willing to fulfill her every whim. She just didn't have the time or energy to do something as tedious and boring as her job. And if it hadn't been for Kisuke and later Soifon, the second division would've fallen down around her head.

But now, she's lost them both. One to death. To her own failure to be strong enough, to push Soifon hard enough. The other to her own disregard. To her own careless nature.

Kisuke was her best friend, still is. Her only real friend for a very long time. He'd always been there when she needed him the most. Always the thoughtful and supporting shoulder to lean on when she wanted nothing more than to tear her hair out in frustration at the sheer stupidity of Soul Society in general and the Shihouin in particular. Always the guiding hand to keep her on track.

She'd honestly once thought to marry him. If only because he was her best friend and understood her and would never demand that she act or be anything than what she is. If only because he would never use the position to his advantage or in a grab for power. That he would truly care for her all his days and that she wouldn't have a marriage of convenience like her parents. That he would respect her and her opinions, even when he thought she was crazy. That he'd never seen the Shihouin but only Yoruichi. That she'd never have to give him up, never have to give up her lifetime of adventure. Never have to become a proper lady and a dutiful and dull wife.

That and it would've given her relatives ulcers just thinking about it. The thought that she'd marry the bastard child of a married noble woman and her lieutenant lover, who was from Rukongai to boot. That his inventions would undoubtedly burn or blow up half their manor at least twice a month. That he didn't care for position or formality. Only competence. Only ability and talent and loyalty.

But… But she couldn't do that to him. Couldn't do that to herself. Couldn't give him the hope that she'd ever settle down. That she'd be able to love him like he loved her.

And love her he did. Yoruichi knows that he did. Still does. That he'd loved her from the very first game of tag and had continued to do so through all her antics and various flings. That he is nothing if not constant and faithful, even when she'd promised him nothing but friendship.

Which is why she'd finally had to let him. Why she'd gone back to Soul Society without him. She couldn't keep doing this. Couldn't keep stringing him along. Making him want what he could never have. What she could never give. And somehow still be okay with that.

It isn't fair to him. None of it is fair. Life isn't fair.

And maybe some small part of her was just simply ready to move on. Perhaps she had just wanted to go home. Even if only for a little while. Maybe she'd wanted to see what she had missed during her century of absence.

Or maybe… just maybe, Yoruichi had finally seen what was there all along. Had realized that her actions have an effect on the people around her. That she isn't the center of the universe. That the longer she stays the less chance Kisuke has of noticing what is right under his nose.

And that's why she's here now and not off with them. Not off with Kisuke and Ichigo, Isshin's boy who isn't a boy at all anymore. It's the least she can do for them, for Kisuke who has put up with her all these years and asked for nothing in return. The least she can do is make the path between them and those chasing after nothing short of a gauntlet. Those two deserve their freedom, their chance together, and if she manages to stick it to Chamber 46 in the process all the better.

She may be somewhat lazy and lackadaisical in some things, but no one can ever accuse her of being disloyal or stupid. Yoruichi smells something rotten in Seireitei, and that thing is Chamber 46. It was all a set-up. Pure and simple. And it takes her less than a minute into their story to realize that. They want Ichigo under control, and if he won't willingly submit and join up, this is the easiest way to do it. Yet, it seems to have done nothing but backfire on them. Not only is he out of reach, he'll now be gunning for them where he wasn't before, content to let sleeping dogs lie and simply live his life.

They should've just left well enough alone. Left him alone. But now, they're going to get a lesson in humility. One that will be painful and embarrassing and all that much more gratifying.

Yoruichi can't wait.


	13. Persuasion

He won't exactly call it a trap, but Aizen standing right outside the bedroom, failing to look as if he is just passing by as a coincidence, is too telling. There is a hint of disgruntlement in the man's features before he schools it into something more nonchalant.

"Given up on Shihouin-san then?" he asks snidely.

Then, Kisuke can identify the look in his eyes. Malice, clear and simple.

Kisuke squares his shoulders, longing for a shower. "That's none of your business," he retorts, ignoring the stab of pain that Aizen's insinuation produces. No need to have given up on something there was never a chance for in the first place. There is a reason they call it unrequited.

He should have known that such a weak rejoinder wouldn't have dissuaded Aizen.

"I was under the impression that you were supposed to be the one looking out for his best interests," the brunet continues. Much like a man with a death wish because no matter the consequences he keeps pushing Kisuke, whose restraint can only take handle so much. "Tell me again how that works."

Kisuke purses his lips, biting back a childish retort. "The person who caused most of his pain is in no position to question my motives."

"Ah, so there _is_ a motive."

Dammit. Now, the bastard is twisting his words around on him.

"I never said there was because there doesn't have to be." Kisuke's mouth curls into a smirk. "Again, this is an aspect of friendship that a traitor like you could never understand."

"I'm sure that all he needed was your healing touch to make it all better," Aizen returns with a sarcastic drawl, making his point without a need to be overly crude.

Gray eyes narrow. "Ichigo is not a child. And I hardly need you chastising me for something that was his choice."

"As the most rational and stable person in that room, I assume." Aizen tilts his head at that comment. Infinitely amused.

Kisuke can practically hear his teeth grinding one against another. He reminds himself that Aizen has had years to hone the art of cutting another down with words, and though Kisuke won't ever admit it aloud, he knows he isn't the most equipped to win these tete-a-tetes. That doesn't mean he isn't going to try.

The former overlord goes on, as though Kisuke's brief silence gives him permission to keep spouting his unnecessary insinuations. "I suppose I should give you credit for waiting until he was legal. Unless there is a past of which I'm not aware..." He leaves it open-ended on purpose, trying to cut through with words alone.

If it is going to come to that, then Kisuke has no choice but to be nasty himself. He bristles, the temperature in the hall dropping to a chilly, subzero breeze. Like Hitsugaya has taken up residence with no one the wiser.

"If you want to make unfounded insinuations, there are plenty of rumors I can drag up for your benefit," Kisuke retorts, squaring his shoulders once more. "And how old was Ichimaru when you dragged him into your plot again? I'm sure it didn't take much to convince an orphan from Rukongai, did it? But then, you know what strays are like."

Something in Aizen's demeanor instantly stiffens, and his eyes blaze behind his glasses. Burning in a manner that makes Kisuke smug inside, even as he feels a twinge of guilt at bringing up a dead man.

Still, the blond doesn't even fight his smirk now that the tables are turned. "You just loved how much he admired you. He would've done anything you asked. _Anything at all._ " A little chuckle escapes, but it isn't as honest as it could be. "You two were very _close_ , weren't you?"

The brunet doesn't show it, but Kisuke knows that one hit home. Ichimaru means a lot to Aizen; he was more than just a subordinate and fellow conspirator. If Aizen were not such an unfeeling subhuman, Kisuke might even say that he loved Ichimaru. Like a father would his son.

And maybe it is that thought that makes him change his next words.

"Baseless accusations can go both ways. Besides," Kisuke says with a cold sense of superiority, "I don't recall you ever being attached to another. It must come as a shock that people do such things, but I'm sure that I can use small words to explain it to you. Perhaps a diagram." At the narrowing of Aizen's brow, he winks and wishes for his fan. "Shunsui was lax in leaving you so uninformed."

His adversary gives a disdainful sniff. "Or perhaps Shunsui preferred that I have worthwhile encounters. Ones with others fully willing and able."

"Worthwhile? Do you even know what that means?" Kisuke counters, fighting not to roll his eyes. "And don't call him Shunsui. You lost that privilege."

The flicker that travels across the former overlord's face can almost be called guilt were it anyone else. But Kisuke knows better than that.

"I can call him whatever I like," Aizen returns loftily. "We were family, after all. Despite opinions to the contrary." He inclines his head then, lenses catching the dim light of the hallway. "Not that you would understand such things. I mean, really… did you even know who your mother was? Or did she truly abandon you the day you were born to some unseated Shinigami?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, affecting a sense of self-righteous innocence.

How he manages that is beyond Kisuke. But the shopkeeper is too busy seething inside to really care.

"My father was a fukutaichou, though you are probably unaware," he rebuffs with an easy tone. "And my mother loved him dearly. Though not necessarily her husband."

Aizen gifts him with a wicked smile. "Ah, the Urahara family. Always tasting what they shouldn't. You must get that from him."

Kisuke was willing to back off on the Ichimaru angle, but parents are fair game. And he's tired of playing by the rules when his opponent clearly doesn't care.

"At least my father loved me. What of your parents?" he questions already knowing the painful and humiliating truth. "Oh, that's right. They didn't even notice you existed most days." Kisuke taps his chin with his first finger in mock realization. "And I vaguely recall something Shunsui told me once. An explanation for why you always hung around looking like a lost dog."

His eyes gleam then, and the blond doesn't even care that they've gone beyond dangerous territory with a few words and to the point of no return. After all, Aizen was the one who dug up their family histories. There is a reason long dead pasts should stay buried.

"For why Unohana-san always had to patch you up as a child," Kisuke continues maliciously, not even feigning this time. "You couldn't possibly have been that clumsy. Running into doors? Not even Kurotsuchi would believe that one." His tone is light then, a direct mockery to his words. "Tell me, did some part of you enjoy it? Just some small part? At least then, your father actually noticed you."

Dimly, he notices one of Aizen's hands curl into a fist at his sides. Kisuke, however, just doesn't care. Completely ignores the twinge of guilt at his own cruelty. Something about this man just makes him vicious. Brings out the very worst in him.

"Is that your excuse for everything?" he inquires before he can even stop himself. Not that he really wants to do so. "That your daddy hit you, so you had to be bad. That you needed to punish everyone around you." Kisuke snorts. "Kyouraku Shunsui was good to you. Probably the closest thing to a real father you ever had. And we all know how you repaid him for it."

If the blond thought Aizen's eyes burned before, it is nothing compared to the inferno now. The smoldering fires that threaten to consume everything. And if he even possessed a trickle of reiatsu, Kisuke has no doubt that Aizen would use it to summon forth the worst and most agonizing kidoh he knows. Or perhaps he would just reach for Kyouka Suigetsu and run him through.

Strangely though, his tone is frosty. Icy in a way that not even Kuchiki Byakuya could manage.

"I may be a murderer," Aizen admits with a slow deliberateness, "but at least, I don't rape children." He pauses to let that sink in but speaks before Kisuke can focus beyond the roaring in his ears. "Was the opportunity simply too much? Too much temptation in such a sinful package? What would your dear friend Isshin think? Or Hirako? Your fukutaichou?"

The brunet lets out a light laugh at Kisuke's expression. Enjoying that far too much for his own good.

"Or maybe you merely like them young," he sadistically follows through. "Perhaps it is the heartbreak that appeals to you. Do you like how broken he is? Did he call you sensei and ask you to be gentle?" Another cruel chuckle is followed by that same smile. "You simply couldn't resist, could you?"

Instead of flaring hot, Kisuke's insides go cold. A sharp stab of shame in his belly. Those words true. Too true for his liking. For his comfort. And he honestly has no response to that. No possible defense.

"As if you know about resisting temptation," he snaps harshly and pushes by Aizen, heading for the bathroom without so much as a backwards look.

It's weak, oh-so-weak, and Kisuke knows it. Aizen has won this time around, and he hates. Loathes it. Wishes he could end things with a well-placed kidoh or a graceful swing of Benihime. He grinds his teeth, his insides twisting and churning. Not with regret because he's already promised that. But guilt. Heavy and nauseating guilt.

He feels it crawl over him as he closes the bathroom door behind him and jerks the water for the shower on, letting the noise of it cover the sound of his harsh breathing. He ignores the mirror, refuses to look at it, doesn't want to know what it sees. Kisuke strips quickly, throwing his dirty laundry into the basket, and steps under the spray.

The heat beats down on his back, and he lets it wash over him, over his hair as he stares at the grey tile. His palms flat against the cold surface, a contrast to the steaming heat. His fingers scrape against the wall. He can practically feel Aizen's sense of victory from here, and it burns.

Ichigo will wake tomorrow, he reminds himself. And only then will Kisuke know how his friend really feels about this. The sense that he had taken advantage of Ichigo has not faded, no matter how he tries not to think about it. He asks himself what else he could have done and then wonders if he is merely making excuses. Only to curse under his breath, closing his eyes in frustration. He hates that the uncertainty stems entirely from Aizen and his cutting words.

With a shuddering, deep breath, Kisuke forces himself to actually shower as he intended. There's nothing more to be down now. All he can do is wait for tomorrow and hope that he hasn't completely ruined one of his dearest friendships. Hasn't made his best friend hate him.

And that the shame doesn't drown him.

\------

Kisuke wakes with an annoyed grunt as a slot of bright sunlight pours through the blinds and right across his eyes. He rolls over and encounters a warm body, having previously forgotten that he shares a bed with Ichigo now. Mind fuzzily trying to recover, Kisuke stiffens as Ichigo groans and stirs, waking himself.

He isn't ready for this, a mish-mash of memories attacking him in that moment. Memories of hot skin and warm lips and Ichigo sighing his name. Aizen's accusations carrying the stench of truth as they settle heavily in his mind. He realizes that in all likelihood, Ichigo will wake up swinging, and it'll be Kisuke bearing the brunt of it because it is his fault. He's the bastard here.

Kisuke's breath catches in his throat, and he has an awkward moment of heart-stopping breathlessness as Ichigo's eyes flutter open. The lame "good morning" he thinks to say dies on his tongue, and he regards Ichigo warily. Waiting for the blow to come. He deserves it, after all. He's the pervert everyone thought him to be.

Ichigo looks at him, expression unreadable, before he leans in and presses his lips to Kisuke's own without a single ounce of hesitation. Surprised, his reaction is delayed, and he scrambles to execute a proper response. He moves against Ichigo's warm mouth and feels a great sense of relief sweep through him. When Ichigo draws back, the blond can't help but question whether or not he's dodged a potential landmine.

"So I suppose I can take that as a good sign you're not planning to attack me?" he asks, attempting a half-crooked grin that utterly fails in light of his wariness.

"Depends on what you mean by attack," Ichigo answers and rolls onto his back, stretching his arms over his head in a languid stretch that makes bones pop and muscles ripple invitingly beneath his skin.

He looks much better than he did the night before. The darkness is not completely gone from his eyes, but the strain has eased. And Kisuke won't push for him to talk about it either. He knows that it won't really help, and he wishes he knew something that actually would. A band-aid to the wound, he reminds himself.

Kisuke stirs at the sight, wanting more than the brief taste Ichigo allowed him. He blinks at the unexpectedly bold statement, and his grin turns genuine.

"My Ichigo, I didn't know you could be so forward."

Brown eyes glance at him askance. Seeming to judge him for a second as if realizing something.

"I never said I was a virgin either," Ichigo comments. Like he's read his bedmate's mind.

His eyebrows threaten to crawl into his hairline at the almost blasé statement. Kisuke doesn't want to admit that he honestly thought Ichigo was. Thus a good portion of the guilt that may or may not have been exacerbated by Aizen's accusations.

Ichigo scowls, annoyed by Kisuke's expression. "I can tell by that dumbass look you thought I was."

Ah, he's been caught. Not that he and Ichigo have ever really discussed the Vizard's experience or lack thereof. For a war hero, he is surprising jilted on that regard. Still, Kisuke would have thought that he'd heard of some kind of romantic interest in Ichigo's past. He knows of Jyuushiro, and he also knows that never went further than vestal touches.

"I've had a girlfriend, you know," Ichigo reveals, voice tight and vaguely annoyed. "I'm not that pathetic."

"Oh?" Kisuke murmurs, wondering why he's not heard about this before. "And I never said you were. I'm sure she was lovely." Still, he is racking his brain, trying to figure out when this happened.

But then, there was a time when he had been too caught up with Yoruichi's sudden abandonment of him and the living world. When she had returned to Soul Society without so much as a farewell, going where he could not follow. Ichigo might have told him and Kisuke hadn't been paying attention. And then again, it might have never come up. They discussed the war and Ichigo's abilities. They talked about his family and schoolwork. But they never discussed Ichigo's romantic life. Kisuke wonders why when it seems so relevant now.

"Don't say it like that, pervert," Ichigo retorts and rolls into a sitting position, looking pointedly down at his changed clothes, probably wondering how that happened. "It didn't work out."

Kisuke finds himself curious, more than should seem reasonable. "I assume you met this girl at school."

"Yeah." Ichigo runs a hand through his hair as he muses, always slow to wake. His voice is quiet but almost offhand as he continues. "My nightmares scared her more than they did me."

"Bitch," Kisuke says before he thinks about it.

Really, how could someone be with Ichigo and not want to support him? That is just cowardly.

Ichigo glances over his shoulder, tossing out a strange look. "It's not her fault. She didn't know. And damn if I'd ever tell her. That would've been a hell of an explanation."

"I can imagine," Kisuke mutters, still oddly disgruntled.

If the twit had cared, she would've stayed, and that's all he can think. Though he does suppose trying to make anything work with someone who has no knowledge of the spirit world could be difficult. He only has to look at Isshin to realize that. The man has three children he adores, but his wife died protecting their spiritually-strong son because she didn't have any abilities on her own. Kisuke doubts that Masaki regretted it, but the fact remains that Isshin pulled her into their world.

He watches as Ichigo rises to his feet with a barely concealed yawn, running a hand through his hair and making a face. "I need a shower," he murmurs, fingers scratching over his chin where stubble has begun to show.

Kisuke can't refute that, and he doesn't as he watches, every motion languid and intentional. Somehow erotic. Or perhaps that's just his own lust talking. Despite Ichigo's nonchalance, it's obvious he hasn't forgotten his near-breakdown of the night before. The nightmares that spawned it aren't so easily neglected or pushed aside.

Either way, Kisuke is certain that Aizen's accusations don't have an entire ring of truth to them. This – whatever it is – between he and Ichigo has nothing to do with Yoruichi or what feelings he may have for her. He cares for Ichigo and wants nothing but the best for his former student. Kisuke is sure of it. He looks at this man, and he swears to whichever god is listening that he won't let Aizen manipulate Ichigo or himself.

"You can't trust him," Kisuke says as Ichigo rifles through his bag, no doubt looking for something else clean to change into. It probably seems out of the blue, but it is something important for Ichigo to hear.

"What?" The Vizard hesitates, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Aizen. He can't be trusted," Kisuke clarifies, shifting until he leans against the wall to hopefully clear away the drowsiness that is still infecting his body.

"I sort of got that during the war," Ichigo answers with a frown. He straightens, holding a bundle of clothes. "But that doesn't mean he's wrong."

Kisuke resists the urge to wince. "I don't like Soul Society anymore than he does. Especially not now. But that isn't your only option."

"I know." Ichigo shifts in discomfort, gaze flicking to the covered window and the bright sunlight glinting beyond it. "But I'm not much liking the other choices I have."

"You mean the one where we could easily stay here and give Aizen over?"

Ichigo scowls, obviously not amenable to the idea. Damn. Things would be much easier if Kisuke could just get rid of Aizen. But somehow, the bastard has managed to get under Ichigo's skin. He has doubts, and that is worrisome.

The shopkeeper switches directions, biting back on a sigh. "You want to be king then?"

"You mean if the world accepts me?" Ichigo shrugs, obviously still indecisive about the matter. "I don't know. Not really. It wasn't exactly on my list of life aspirations. But I'd imagine it'd be right below becoming a captain but ahead of being taken over by my Hollow."

His sarcasm relieves Kisuke. Ichigo hasn't become Aizen's just yet. There's still a chance to make it all go away, to prevent his student from being used.

But then, Ichigo continues, almost as if he's thinking aloud to answer his own questions. "But if I can stop the bullshit from happening, if I can do something about them..." he trails off.

Kisuke can guess all too well what he is thinking.

Ichigo has always been like that – too willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. For Rukia. For Ishida. For Inoue. Countless unknown faces during the war. Quick to throw himself in front of a blade or a kidoh or an opponent that he knows an ally can't handle. He can't stand idly by, not even for the sake of his own health. Kisuke supposes that is Masaki shining through in him. Isshin and his kin have never been that self-sacrificing.

Still, the blond has wished time and time again that Ichigo would be just a little selfish. That he would think about himself for once. And Aizen knows far too well how to appeal to Ichigo's sense of altruism. His feelings of unnecessary guilt. Ichigo has always refused to sit back if he can save someone, even more so now that he remembers all those he couldn't during the hell that was their war.

He hesitates, but Kisuke says it anyway. "Don't be loyal to him out of guilt," he warns quietly, rising to his feet with a creak of bone that makes him feel far too old for his age. But it's not the years that have been harsh on him. "Aizen started this war." He crosses the floor, moving towards Ichigo as the Vizard mulls over his warning.

"And we finished it," Ichigo adds, a flicker of darkness and shame entering his eyes.

Guilt threatens to crest over Kisuke. He was just smiling, if only slightly, and now, it is back. All the negative emotions he has battled the night before. And Kisuke can only think of one way to chase them away.

Sliding his fingers around the back of Ichigo's head, hair tickling his skin, Kisuke leans in and kisses him. Nothing too deep or lusty but a soft mingling of their mouths. Breaths are shared and calm exchanged. Desire stirs in Kisuke again, but he fights it down. He doesn't really know the limits of what is between them. Besides, Ichigo really does need to get cleaned up.

He ends their kiss with much reluctance on his part. Lips lingering briefly against Ichigo's mouth, slightly chapped but warm and pliant. He watches as Ichigo's tongue runs over his lips, not at all bothered by the display of affection.

He's used to it, Kisuke realizes. Used to being touched like this by another person. Though it had only been fleeting. And he finds himself curious about this person, this girl who Ichigo had dated for however short a time it was. What kind of person could captivate Ichigo's interest?

"What was her name?" he asks, palm warm against Ichigo's neck, thumb stroking over his strong and steady pulse. He wonders why he hasn't noticed before that they are the same height now, especially since that he's not wearing his geta.

Ichigo blinks at the odd and likely disconnected question. "Does it matter?" he returns, and when Kisuke looks at him, Ichigo sighs in acquiescence. "Haruhi," he answers succinctly, shifting his clothes in his hold. "She has brown hair and brown eyes, and she likes otoro. She was pre-law, but I don't remember when she graduates from law school."

He recites off her attributes like reading a listing of available dates off some sort of purchase contract. As if he's reminding himself of them time and time again. Kisuke isn't sure what to think about that. And he's a bit surprised that Ichigo would freely offer all the answers without more prodding on his part.

"How long?" Kisuke questions softly, not sure why he needs to know this but feeling like it is necessary that he does. He still wonders how he could have missed it.

Ichigo shrugs, closing his eyes briefly as he tries to recall. "A few months. Towards the end of my first year at the university." He pauses, reconsiders. "It was just after Yoruichi-san went back to Soul Society."

That explains more than Kisuke is willing to admit it does.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had your own problems. And besides, I bothered you with everything else." Ichigo rolls his eyes as Kisuke's hand slides away. "For once, Goat-Face made himself useful. Not that he was my first choice. Kinda sprang it on me."

Amusingly, Kisuke isn't surprised. The relationship between father and son is very complicated indeed. He isn't even sure what to call it. They care for each other as family does, but the both of them are hiding truths from one another. He can't imagine Ichigo's reaction when he finds out his father's past. No doubt it will be ugly. Very, very ugly. And all he can hope is not to be caught in the cross-fire.

"How's that?" Kisuke prods, grinning a bit at the image of Isshin attempting his own special brand of consolation and Ichigo kicking the crap out of him for it. He still wonders if Isshin is ever going to learn that acting like an idiot isn't an effective cover for the reality beneath. It certainly hasn't helped Kisuke.

Ichigo's lips curl at the edges, a shade of a smile. "Karin couldn't keep her big mouth shut," he mutters, but it's fond. Full of love for his sister. "Yuzu thought we'd get married, but it was never that serious."

Somehow, Kisuke isn't sure he's getting the whole truth. "Are you sure it wasn't?"

"It never was," Ichigo says doggedly and turns away, one hand on the door, still intent on his shower. "She was more into her studies than me, but she's a good friend now. I still talk to her. Well... I did."

He frowns, expression darkening before he shakes his head. The door slides open, and he steps out, leaving Kisuke behind to contemplate.

Aizen's words linger without his permission. His personal questioning runs rampant. He wonders just what he has gotten himself into. And then, he thinks that he can't – _won't_ – be like that girl. Ichigo deserves better, and Kisuke is going to give him better.

Somehow. Someway.

He wishes he could feel less guilty for Ichigo's seeming acceptance of what happened. It doesn't excuse him. And someday, he'll have to grow some balls and actually talk to him. They're both on thin ice, dangerous ground here. And with the pest that is Aizen two steps away, Kisuke can't be certain of his next move.

He knows he's losing position here. That the more time passes, the more Ichigo leans towards Aizen's goals. The more he seems to think that's the best thing to do. The more he's willing to throw himself into battle for the sake of others again. Kisuke doesn't want that for him. He wants Ichigo to heal, not crack even more. He doesn't want to see Ichigo break.

Kisuke can't shake the feeling that he's actually losing this battle, and that simple thought worries him more than he can say.


	14. Ceasefire

Urahara has an interesting collection of literature, and Sousuke occupies himself with the bookshelves when he doesn't want to get lost in his own repetitive thoughts. The TV set holds no appeal for him, and as much as he wants to leave, he has the feeling that he won't be allowed back in should he choose to do so. No doubt Urahara would react gleefully at the chance to be rid of him for good.

Tired, Sousuke lifts a hand and rubs at his forehead. Only a few days have passed, but the lack of sleep has caught up to him. He avoids mirrors because he doesn't want to see the strained face that surely would reflect in it. It's not that his room is uncomfortable or anything similar, but honestly, how well can he sleep knowing he's housed with two people who have no reason _not_ to kill him.

He knows Urahara would joyfully slit his throat in his sleep and not think twice about it. Kurosaki-kun is a different story as he has more honor than that. And as Aizen hasn't done anything _recently_ to warrant an attack, Kurosaki won't do anything. It is only vague beliefs about the boy's possible disapproval that keep his life out of Urahara's hands. Still, that doesn't mean Sousuke is ready to trust himself to their mercy.

Needless to say, he's been sleeping with one eye open, and the lack of true rest makes for an uneasy agitation attacking his body. It doesn't help that he had to bear an auditory witness to the consummation of a relationship he has long suspected. Either the two of them honestly had forgotten he was in the house or hadn't cared. Sousuke would have much preferred their discretion.

It is only one more reminder that he is in a place he is not welcome and only grudgingly allowed. But Sousuke stays because he has nowhere else to go, and it is the only way to accomplish his goals. He can't turn back now, and he won't abandon his plans.

Suppressing a growl of irritation, Sousuke scans the bookshelves for something to occupy himself. Boredom is an affliction he finds difficult to cure, and he doesn't dare let thoughts of loneliness cross his mind. He has put himself in this position after all, and Sousuke has already determined there would be no regrets. He won't allow any.

A sound in the doorway distracts him then, and Sousuke hates that he can't tell by reiatsu alone who it is. He thinks he remembers Urahara leaving to acquire some much-needed supplies. Or at least, that is what he claimed, but Sousuke does make a habit out of tuning the annoying shopkeeper out if it's not deemed important. He glances briefly over his shoulder, a strange mixture of emotions striking him as he spots Kurosaki-kun.

The boy looks tired but remarkably better than the strained appearance he put forth yesterday. Freshly scrubbed and fed, he is better fit for a semi-public appearance. Sousuke wonders how much of that has anything to do with Urahara and their... _relationship_ , if that is what they wish to call it.

On some levels, it amuses him. On others, he is intrigued. Honestly, he should have known that Urahara would stoop so low. It is in his nature after all. Petty and plebian.

"There's probably nothing interesting in here either, is there?" Kurosaki asks, speaking first and surprising Sousuke with the civility in his tone.

Perhaps he is merely making an effort not to worsen a situation already strained. The three of them will have to live together for what could possibly be a long time. Months. Years even. Maybe the boy is trying to make peace, a much more mature approach than his older and fickler counterpart.

Sousuke shakes his head. If Kurosaki is going to try, all the better for him. He needs the former substitute to see him as less of a threat – less of an enemy – if this is going to work.

"Unfortunately no."

The boy snorts. "Figures." And he does this eerie thing where he just sort of looks at Sousuke, as though trying to put together a puzzle with only a few pieces and expecting to make up the rest. "You should let me take a look at that."

Confused, Sousuke glances at the book in his hand, unsure what else his companion could be talking about. But that must not be what the boy means because he strolls in the room like there's nothing wrong with two onetime enemies sharing space. He actually gets closer, despite Daddy Urahara's warning to stay away from the big, bad Aizen.

"Your nose," Kurosaki-kun clarifies, eyes scanning Sousuke's face. "It looks like it might be broken."

Sousuke, for his part, is speechless and uncertain he's willing to trust Kurosaki with a delicate part of his anatomy. Perhaps all this friendliness is just a front in order to get close and inflict some real damage. Paranoid? Yes. But cautious as well. He's suffered enough bodily harm in the past few days that he would've never endured if he hadn't lost that damn war. Humiliation doesn't suit him. That is more Hirako's bit.

"Med student, remember? I can do it," Kurosaki-kun reminds him, as though there's some magical code of ethics that renders him unable to wreak havoc on those already injured and Sousuke should be satisfied with that.

Except that he's not. However, if he's going to do this, he has to start trusting somewhere, and the boy doesn't strike him as vindictive as Urahara. Yet.

He gestures vaguely. "Then, by all means..." Sousuke leaves the rest hanging, though a thought occurs to him as Kurosaki points him to one of the chairs. "I don't think reiatsu is a good idea, however," he suggests warily, well remembering the blistering feel of Urahara's against his skin. The lingering nausea is more than he wishes to relive.

And once again, Sousuke curses his apparent lack of power. His former glory lifts up to mock him. He slaps it back down.

Kurosaki-kun shakes his head, getting closer in an unsettling manner and just _looking_ at him. Sousuke attributes it to the fact he's supposed to be fixing the possibly broken nose, but does he _have_ to be so _close_?

"Don't worry, I'm not," Kurosaki reassures, brown eyes impossibly dark and concerned. Totally focused on the task at hand and not something painful such as a fist to the gut. Small favors. "Never really learned. Thought about it, but teachers are a bit in short supply."

Sousuke supposes he would be right. What few there are too teach him must have been too busy dealing with the aftermath of the war. And he doubts the boy would trust Urahara to teach him such a delicate skill, not to mention all the effort he's gone through to avoid contact with Soul Society. Not that Sousuke blames him.

Conversation, he decides, is the quickest way to friendliness. So he asks.

"Why did you want to be a doctor?"

The question definitely startles Kurosaki, who is probably anticipating more attempts on Sousuke's part to sway him to his cause. Well, that will come later. Now is trust-building time. He's always been particularly good at this.

"What?"

Sousuke prods for more, surprised to find himself honestly interested. He knows fighting medics – the entire fourth division, for example – but he wonders how someone like Kurosaki-kun can go from battle to healing with a snap of his fingers. It seems like an unnecessarily opposite choice, as though the ex-substitute is trying to push himself as far away from chaos and confrontation as possible.

"You didn't want to be anything else?"

The boy shrugs, lifting a hand and holding it towards Sousuke's face. He waits until Sousuke seems to be accepting of the touch before gently prodding the pads of his fingers across the bridge. It doesn't hurt. Much. There is still some soreness, and Sousuke knows there's a nice and undoubtedly dark bruise all over his face.

"I don't know," Kurosaki-kun answers, brow furrowed in concentration. "I guess I just... fell into it. I mean, my dad's a doctor, and I never thought about doing anything else." He frowns and pulls back, obviously contemplating a means to fix the current problem. "I like helping people, so I guess it all works out fine."

He doesn't sound sure of himself. And Sousuke would bet ten-to-one that if Kurosaki sat down and thought about it, he would have chosen something else. Even more, that he had already wanted a different career path but chose a medical profession for another reason entirely. Sousuke finds himself curious, and that in itself surprises him. Yet, it's clear the topic isn't really one Kurosaki-kun is comfortable with, so he wisely alters the course of the conversation.

"I'm surprised they didn't offer you a division or similar," he comments, watching as the boy wanders away to rummage through the shelves of the main room. Looking for what, Sousuke doesn't know.

"They did." Kurosaki-kun smirks, tossing it over his shoulder at Sousuke with a familiar gleam of boyish recklessness in his eyes. "They offered me yours."

Sousuke isn't surprised, and he supposes there's an irony in that. Still, he wonders why Kurosaki didn't take what had to be a generous offer. It is obvious that the Gotei 13 would have needed him. Did his life as a human have something to do with it? Or is there a deeper reason?

"Why didn't you take it?" he questions with actual intrigue coloring his tone.

His question is a simple one, but it doesn't take a return of Sousuke's reiatsu to detect the change in atmosphere. It is a question that Kurosaki isn't really interested in answering, and a sense of awkwardness descends into the room. The boy shifts uncomfortably and finally produces whatever it is he has been looking for. A bottle of low-grade aspirin. Pity, Sousuke has been hoping for something a little stronger.

He returns to standing in front of his patient, and the boy shakes bottle in silent command for Sousuke to take a few.

"It wasn't for me," he explains after a second. "Take a few of these. It'll help with the swelling."

Sousuke complies because the discomfort Kurosaki-kun radiates is uncomfortable, even for him. Still, he wants to know anyway. This child is... _fascinating_ , for lack of a better word. He has always been perplexed by this part-human, part-Hollow, part-Shinigami amalgam who always managed to mangle his plans. That his entire life contradicts itself makes him an intriguing character to study, and the scientist within Aizen Sousuke – though only a small part of him – practically squeals in scholarly interest.

"Besides, who would've been my lieutenant?" Kurosaki-kun continues, as though it's just an offhanded statement and not an attempt to distance himself from the underlying truth. "Yumichika-san? Hanatarou?"

"Kusajishi?" Sousuke suggests, his own attempt at humor.

It's enough to drag a light chuckle out of the boy – who really isn't a boy anymore. Still, Sousuke has at least a good century or two on Kurosaki-kun and will consider him a boy for quite some time.

"Not on your life," Kurosaki assures him and sets to prodding at Sousuke's nose, pushing it this way and that, pinching the bridge.

Slight discomfort threads through Sousuke, but he endures. He doesn't think it's broken, and by the look of things, neither does Kurosaki-kun. Why he's still looking, the former lord doesn't know. Perhaps he's checking for other injuries; the medical student in him, he supposes.

"And what about you?"

The question completely catches him off guard. Not that he shows it.

"Pardon?" Sousuke returns easily.

Kurosaki draws back, eyes surreptitiously scanning his patient from a farther distance that admittedly allows Sousuke to breathe a little easier. "These past few years you've been hiding in the living world, right? What've you been doing?"

In other words, what mischief has he been causing? What diabolical plan should Kurosaki be on the lookout for? Just who has he been manipulating?

There's a hint of the fact that they _are_ enemies – if not enemies with a mutual enemy at the moment – and Kurosaki-kun still doesn't quite trust him. Well, one step at a time. Sousuke isn't a god, and now, it looks like he won't ever be. He can't make things happen with a snap of his finger.

Oh, how Sousuke laments that particular loss.

He knows that Kurosaki isn't going to have expected his truthful answer, and he laughs lightly.

"Would you believe me if I said I was a teacher?"

There's a moment of startled surprise that echoes in Kurosaki-kun's expression – regret is it? How interesting. And, then it shifts into skepticism.

He snorts. "What the hell could _you_ have taught?"

"Middle school." When Kurosaki raises a brow, still not entirely believing him, Sousuke just shrugs elegantly. "It's not unlike leading a division," he adds, amused by his companion's reactions to this.

"So you're saying the Shinigami are just a bunch of children?" It is more of a question than a statement.

Well, that would be the gist of it. In multiple ways, despite their many years of living, they very much are.

"In a way."

Kurosaki-kun chuckles. "I sorta got that myself," he comments and shakes his head. "I'm getting the feeling you were probably good at it."

If that is a compliment, Sousuke is wondering why Kurosaki gives it. Have they suddenly become friends without him knowing it? He doesn't _think_ the student is as manipulative as his teacher, but then, what does he really know about the boy? Nothing, as this encounter is proving to him. Nothing at all.

"I never had any complaints as far as I know."

In fact, Sousuke is pretty well-accepted among his peers and students alike. It helps that he is so very good at putting on a meek and polite persona, radiating confidence and harmlessness. He supposes that he has the Shinigami to thank for that practice, but really, they were damn easy to fool.

"All the little girls probably loved you," Kurosaki-kun adds almost offhandedly, prompting a peculiar look from Sousuke.

One that Kurosaki seems to realize means his comment could have been misconstrued. "Err... not like that. You know what I mean." He rakes a hand through his hair, turning away. "So how did you manage that? Don't they have requirements to teach?"

"The same way I received this gigai," Sousuke answers but purposefully keeps the truth mysterious. He won't reveal the name of his savior because he can't return her kindness with that kind of dishonor. "Someone helped me."

Kurosaki heads toward the doorway. Sousuke follows because it is better to keep the conversation going than to lose his chance to present himself.

"Someone?" Kurosaki-kun prods when he notices the man behind him, making a quick path to the bathroom.

Sousuke leans in the doorway as the boy runs the water, washing his hands and searching the cabinet above the sink. Bottles of medicine rattle loudly in the small space.

"I won't betray them."

Kurosaki-kun turns to offer out one of those ice packs that requires an excessive amount of force and immediate shaking to activate. "I already have an idea. I don't need any names."

"Oh?"

Sousuke takes the pack, examining the contents. It seems simple enough. Break and shake. His fingers prod at the plastic, looking for the small bag inside that requires popping. He finds it easily enough.

Kurosaki's hip rests against the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching Sousuke grapple with the ice pack. And grapple he does because it seems the more he applies pressure to the damn thing, the less it wants to work. He pauses to check the instructions again – perhaps he's doing it wrong – but no, they haven't changed at all. His companion's answer drags him from his contemplation of the ice pack.

"How do you think I escaped?"

He looks up, having expected as much. Only a few people would know to reference Kouichi to him, so it could've only been her. But he doesn't say her name aloud, and Kurosaki-kun doesn't either. Just a mutual understanding of a common friend – or friends, as it were. He knows that Unohana-san couldn't have saved Kurosaki on her own. Just as she hadn't been the one to create all his paperwork for his living world identity.

An exasperated sigh splits the quiet, and then, Sousuke finds the much-mangled ice pack plucked from his hands. He watches as Kurosaki-kun flicks his wrist, twists the bag, and the sound of a pop echoes in the bathroom. He hands it back, giving it a demonstrative shake.

Sousuke, for his part, wishes he could say thank you, but the awkward embarrassment speaks for itself. He just shakes the damn thing and prays he never has to use one again.

Kurosaki's eyes, however, never leave him, as though searching for something in his expression. They harden a bit, the playfulness and general friendliness in their odd conversation finding residence elsewhere. Like he's just now getting to business and the rest was a prelude, a way to invoke Sousuke's trust. It is very sly of him. Very Urahara-like.

"She told me a lot about you," the boy says as Sousuke applies the ice pack, wincing at the abrupt chill. "Things I hadn't known before."

Sousuke blinks, well aware of how much of his past the fourth division captain knows, and wonders how much she would have revealed. Not too much he hopes. Some things are best kept dead and forgotten.

"I get the feeling," Kurosaki continues, "she wished things could have turned out different."

Something clenches in Sousuke's chest, but he refuses to call it guilt. "She would not be the only one."

Kurosaki pushes by him, back down the hall and towards the main room. Sousuke follows because there's no way he can't, not with this sort of topic.

"You say that, but I wonder what you think you should have done differently." Kurosaki-kun's stare is harder now, more demanding. A glimpse of the hostility he harbored at their initial meeting what seems like so long ago but was really only a few days.

Sousuke considers the question. What _would_ he have differently, knowing the things he knows now? Certainly, he would have paid more attention to Kurosaki-kun's existence as he was very much a crux during the war. Would he have killed him? Tried to win the boy to his side? Sousuke doesn't know. But he's certain he would not have dismissed Kurosaki-kun originally. That had been a gross miscalculation on his part.

He could have tried harder to convince Unohana to come with him. He could have reached Shunsui, encouraging his uncle of the truth of things. Perhaps then, an unnecessary death would have been spared.

He would have trained Gin harder, pushing him to his limits, making him stronger. That way Sousuke wouldn't have had to watch him fall to that arrogant bastard Byakuya.

And Sousuke would have definitely been more circumspect in that revelatory turn of events more than a hundred years prior. His arrogance betrayed him, bearing a ruthless vengeance in the form of a group of surviving Shinigami-turned-Vizard and a vindictive shopkeeper from the living world. He should have just killed Shinji and the others when he had the chance. He should have killed Urahara and Tsukabishi as well, rather than taunting the lot of them for their ignorance.

He wonders if those mistakes had cost him the war. So yes, Sousuke thinks there are several things he would definitely change. But he also knows what Kurosaki-kun is really asking.

"There might have been a few things," he admits, though he suspects it's far from the answer that Kurosaki wants to hear. He drops into a chair, the boy occupying one not far from him.

Kurosaki's expression is stormy now. And where that hasn't been tension before, it's making a nuisance of itself now.

"Like not doing it in the first place?"

Sousuke lowers the ice pack, ignoring the chill that creeps into his fingers. "Can you honestly fault me for trying?"

The look on Kurosaki-kun's face is clear, as though the answer should be obvious. Like he wants to shout "yes" to the world and remind Sousuke just how much of an evil bastard he really is. The words seem to dance on the tip of his tongue, but then, the former substitute appears to reconsider with a pointed look to his surroundings. His hand subconsciously rubs at one of his wrists, where faint impressions of the manacles still linger.

Whatever the boy planned to say is lost when the door to the house suddenly opens, prompting the both of them to whirl towards it in startled preparation. Sousuke can't sense a damn thing, and thanks to Urahara's shielding, neither can Kurosaki-kun apparently. They don't know if it's friend or foe.

Until Urahara steps through the door. Keys jingling and brown bag of groceries being jostled from one arm to the other.

"Honey, I'm home," he calls out a bit too cheerfully for any normal person's liking. His eyes sweep the room, setting first on Kurosaki-kun and then Sousuke, promptly losing their sparkle. "Oh, it's you."

The door shuts, and he flicks the bolt. His eyes flicker between the two of them, suspicion plain as day on his face. No doubt he wonders what Aizen the Terrible is doing so close to his precious Kurosaki-kun. He remembers the shopkeeper's warning to stay away from Kurosaki, and well, Sousuke never really gave it a second thought. Urahara can demand all he wants, but he has his own agenda and doesn't fear the former shopkeeper. The truce between them is strained at best.

"I trust your trip went well," Sousuke comments snarkily as Urahara tosses the keys onto a small table and makes a beeline for him.

He – without any ceremony whatsoever – dumps the bag of groceries directly into Sousuke's lap with a snide smile. "The weather is really perfect. Too bad you can't enjoy it."

Oh, the games they play.

Kurosaki rises to his feet, the curiosity of a hungry boy in his eyes as he peers into the depths of the bag. He arches one brow, reaching in and pulling out the topmost item.

"Uhhh... Ura--" Sousuke watches as he visible catches himself at a pointed look from the blond. Kurosaki-kun quickly amends himself. "Umm... Kisuke? Plums?"

He holds said fruit up, showing a plastic bag with at least a dozen ripe plums gleaming within it.

"They were having a sale," Urahara chirps merrily with an askance look at the third member of their household, daring him to say otherwise, "so I bought a whole bag."

Sousuke's eyes narrow. He very much doubts there was a sale. Or that Urahara even likes plums since the shopkeeper knows how much Sousuke loathes them himself. Not just the fruit but the Shinigami who shares their name as well.

"I guess we could make... jam?" Kurosaki-kun suggests, making it more of a question and completely oblivious of the double-meaning.

"They're not for you," Urahara smugly clarifies, practically radiating a pride over himself for a mockery that only the two of them understand. "I know that Sou-kun just loves them."

Unfortunately for Urahara, Kurosaki is not an idiot, and he can tell that there's some underlying purpose behind the plums. But he doesn't ask. Just tosses the blond a disbelieving look and goes back to rooting around in the bag, which remains sitting in Sousuke's lap.

"Any news?"

Urahara shakes his head. "No. But don't be discouraged. It's only been a few days; Tessai probably hasn't had time to settle yet."

"Hmm." Kurosaki-kun digs deeper, the act rather disconcerting to Sousuke who would prefer the boy take the bag himself. "Strawberries. Cabbage. Rice. Well, at least that one makes sense. Tomato sauce. Pasta." He pauses, mid-dig. "And just who's going to cook all this because it's not going to be you," he asks with a pointed glance at the blond.

And Sousuke himself is mildly perturbed. It rather feels as if the both of them are looming over him, Urahara occasionally tossing hostile glares. He can just feel the resentment broiling off the man, as well as the fury for being close to precious Kurosaki Ichigo. He wonders how the boy stands it under that suffocating protectiveness. Gin would have long ago squirmed away or at the very least made some form of teasing comment.

Urahara huffs playfully as the two of them are lost in their own little amused world. "I'll have you know that I made the meal you ate the other day."

"It's kind of hard to screw up soup," Kurosaki-kun retorts.

And Sousuke's had enough. He rises to his feet, prompting both men to take several steps back and Kurosaki to remove his hand from the bag. The action gives him the space he wants, though it is ruined when Urahara grins at him.

"Carry that to the kitchen, won't you?"

Sousuke grits his teeth because he and Kurosaki have made so much progress, and he's going to be the more mature one here. At least for now.

"My pleasure." If he had fangs, they would be bared right now.

Sousuke makes a hasty exit from the room. But not before catching them in the beginnings of another conversation, this one more serious than the banter about Urahara's lack of cooking skills.

"When do you think Tessai-san will be able to contact you?" Worry is thick in Kurosaki-kun's voice, no doubt for his family more than anything.

"I can't say, Ichigo," Urahara answers, tone shifting to seriousness.

There's a creak, someone shifting their weight Sousuke assumes.

"But don't worry. I'm sure your family is fine," Urahara continues. "Soul Society's policy is not to harm regular humans."

' _That we know about_ ,' Sousuke can't help but comment to himself. He would not put it past the powers-that-be to ignore their policy should circumstances change. They've done it many times before.

Intrigued by the conversation, he doesn't head immediately to the kitchen. He pauses in the hallway, leans against the wall, and subtly eavesdrops. There is one advantage to having no reiatsu, he supposes. It makes for easier sneaking.

"Karin and Yuzu can see spirits," the boy protests, and he has a point.

Would they still be considered regular humans with that sort of ability? And then, it is plainly obvious that he doesn't know of his father's identity. Isshin is far from a regular human.

"They don't know that," Urahara reassures softly, and Sousuke can just imagine the love-sick expression that must be on his face. "And the few who do won't tell."

Kurosaki doesn't sound so certain, and there's a squeak of furniture, one of the two of them dropping into the available couch. "Rukia--"

"I think Kuchiki-san will be smart enough to keep it to herself," Urahara inserts, and it's followed by a distracted sigh. "Unfortunately, until I can get into contact with Tessai, I won't be able to get you a gigai or a disguise."

The ex-substitute emits a sound of disappointment, probably feeling as trapped and bored as Sousuke himself. "You're joking."

"I wish I were."

Sousuke somehow doubts that. The better to keep Kurosaki to himself and where he can easily be watched.

"I'm going crazy here," the boy admits, a low growl echoing in his throat. "I can't do anything, and that bastard's getting restless."

That bastard? Sousuke ponders. Perhaps he is talking about his Hollow since logically, he can't be speaking of anything else. He knows that Kurosaki-kun has had some trouble reconciling his halves and maintaining control over his Hollow side.

He misses whatever Urahara says in response, and their voices drop. It is likely a reassurance that he won't have to wait much longer. Convinced that no more interesting information is to be gained, Sousuke wanders to the kitchen. The bag is placed on the counter, and in the interest of not losing valuable food resources, he puts away the groceries. There is a brief moment of puerile glaring at the offending plums, but he stashes those in the fridge anyway.

Sousuke engages in a brief debate with himself over what to do next. He contemplates returning to his room and leaving the lovebirds to their conversation. But he doesn't know what Urahara might be saying to his student, what implications he might be weaving. And Sousuke can't defend himself without being there.

He heads back to the main room, not bothering to announce his return before striding through the entryway. He half wishes he had a moment later because they are separating hastily, and Urahara is the one who looks far too smug for Sousuke's liking. Kurosaki-kun's cheeks are flushed, and though Sousuke doesn't know what they were up to, he can hazard a guess. And he highly suspects Urahara was the one to initiate, pervert that he is.

Sousuke doesn't ask because frankly, he doesn't want to know. He hates that he doesn't know how to handle these two. It is not that he's particularly against homosexuality or the fact that they have cultivated some sort of sexual relationship. Just that Urahara does his best to subtly flaunt it whenever possible, as though laying his claim would make Sousuke seek Kurosaki-kun's aid any less.

He sighs to himself and looks away. This is not going to be easy. But then, he knew from the moment he first sought out Kurosaki Ichigo he was in for a struggle.


	15. Misconception

Time passes, in the way that it usually does when there is nothing to occupy oneself but thoughts of what could be happening beyond the window. It drags on and on, one day bleeding into the next. There is scant to do in the house, and Ichigo notices it more and more with the passing days.

A week. Perhaps two. And the three occupants of the house continue to play a miniature chess game with each other. Ichigo seeking out Aizen when Kisuke is gone and he has no one better to talk to. Kisuke and Aizen sniping at each other like a bunch of grade school children. Or worse teenage girls arguing over a mutual crush. Ichigo and Kisuke sharing their bed and other things.

He remembers that with a faint blush, faint only because it's _Urahara-call-me-Kisuke_ whom he's known for the longest time and never really thought about that way but does now because how can he not? Ichigo still isn't sure of the how or the why behind their relationship shifting to another level, but he can't say he regrets it either. It's comfortable, far more than he would have expected. And it's been a long time since Ichigo's been able to feel that comfortable. A warm bed is so much more appealing than an empty one. Even more so when it is filled with lithe but muscled arms and legs that so willingly wrap around him and the sort of smiles he has never before had directed his way.

Even if it has turned Urahara-the-pervert into an even worse one, who has horrible timing with his choices to randomly grope or kiss Ichigo out of nowhere. And usually not long after Aizen has been talking to him. Ichigo knows what Kisuke's doing of course; he's not stupid. But he lets it slide for now because it really rattles Kisuke to have Aizen in such close proximity, and well, Ichigo's still not absolutely fond of the former overlord himself, their nearly amicable conversations aside.

He doesn't understand Aizen, and really, that's the reasoning and the problem. He talks to Aizen because there's no one else but also because he knows Aizen wants something from him. It's painfully obvious that Aizen wishes to return to his former glory but also knows it's impossible now. And it's clear he's not giving up on his ambitions, but a part of Ichigo can't help but wonder why he thinks he's doing this.

Unohana gave him a pretty good background, but it's nothing like hearing the words from Aizen's own mouth. And Ichigo has to admit that he's curious, too. All he's ever known of the man are the mutterings of the Shinigami who were betrayed by him and therefore making their comments less than complimentary. He thinks that there must be _something_ salvageable; otherwise, what is he doing here? He could've just given Aizen to the wolves and possibly returned to his previous life.

Possibly because he doesn't know if Soul Society would have kept its promise to free him in the end or not. He would like to think that they would, but Ichigo's learned how to be a bit more cynical now. They won't be able to ignore the Hollow inside of him, not when they no longer have a use for him. Certainly not when even Ukitake is too weak to defend him.

And no, Ichigo is not bitter about that at all. Not bitter that he wasted his time and a good part of his innocence on that man. That if he'd even given a hint that he wanted Ichigo to stay, for him to remain in Soul Society for a reason other than the fact that he needed positions filled, none of them would be here now. Definitely not Ichigo. And by proxy not Kisuke either.

But really, that's all in the past now. Never to be repeated. Best left there, too. Like a lot of things he's lost.

His friends. His life. Possibly his sanity. So many things gone. So many regrets.

Ichigo thinks about that a lot, the things he regrets, because Aizen's presence pretty much shoves the war into his face every day. Aizen reminds Ichigo of all the things he hadn't been able to do and prevent, of all the wrong choices that Ichigo has made. And it is Aizen's presence that makes his decision so very hard.

He feels that if he leaps to do as Aizen wants, then he'll be spitting in the face of all those who died to defeat the man in the first place. And Ichigo can't do that. He doesn't want to make the wrong choice again. He doesn't want to regret anything else. The weight is heavy enough already. Too bitter and like ash on his tongue.

" _Fuckin' stupid is what it is!" Renji snarls and throws his hands up into the air. Looking half-ragged and worn, much like Ichigo feels._

_He scowls, stalking away from his friend, not wanting to hear it. "I just didn't see a reason to kill him, okay? What's the point?"_

_Renji follows and grabs his arm, stopping Ichigo's retreat. The teenager can't help but look down at himself, on the blood that splashes his clothes. It's not his. But he's defeated Grimmjow before, and he can do it again. Why does he have to kill anyone?_

" _We're in a war, Ichigo," the redhead inserts ferociously. "Or haven't ya noticed? It's stupid ta let the enemy go!"_

_Ichigo's hands curl into fists, body trembling with a mixture of so many things he can't even begin to identify them. "I'm not killing anyone," he growls with fire bursting behind his eyes._

_He just can't; he just won't. It's not a simple thing. He's not a soldier like them. He didn't go to their precious fucking academy. And if he's not going to kill his enemies, then he's not going to! Grimmjow is a Hollow, yeah. But he's too human for Ichigo's comfort. Far too human. Far more human than many of the Shinigami._

" _Ya think he's somethin' honorable?" Renji demands, relentless in this matter. He's following Ichigo now, stalking him around what is left of the battlefield. Heedless to the eyes that watch their discussion. "That ya spared his life, so he ain't gonna come back and fight us again?"_

_Ichigo doesn't dignify that with an answer because this and that have nothing to do with each other. That wasn't even in his thought process. All he knows is that the thought of plunging his sword into Grimmjow's chest deliberately makes him sick to his stomach. It's different from cleansing a Hollow, too different. It's not the same thing. He can't – he_ _**won't** _ _– do it._

"You're brooding."

Ichigo blinks out of his reverie at the sound of the familiar voice, feeling hands slide around him from behind as a warm body presses against his back. The familiar scent of confectioneries and explosions surrounds him, growing fainter now that Kisuke has spent time away from both. But it's still there, still part of him and always will be. One can take the boy out of the candy shop but not the candy shop out of the boy.

He leans into the embrace because it's a warm comfort against the chill of his memories. "No, I'm not," Ichigo lies just because he can.

"You've had your hand in the sock drawer for fifteen minutes." A soft voice in his ear, a puff of breath coasting over it as Kisuke rubs against the side of Ichigo's head with his own.

He realizes with an embarrassed and somewhat guilty flush that the shopkeeper is correct. And Ichigo removes said hand, clumsily shoving the drawer shut.

"That doesn't mean I'm brooding," Ichigo retorts. If he admits to it, then Kisuke is going to start asking questions, and Ichigo really doesn't want to answer. He doesn't have an answer.

"Hmm." The fingers tighten before beginning a slow massage, the flat of one palm rubbing over his clothed belly. "Want to talk about it?"

With desire starting to prod him out of his melancholy, Ichigo lets a half-smirk cross his lips. "It doesn't seem like talking is what you have in mind."

Kisuke chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of Ichigo's throat, right over his pulse. "Either or. I make a pretty good listener. Or distraction."

He snorts. "You're just a pervert," Ichigo counters, but he's the one who leans further into the touch, not even putting in a token resistance. A distraction sounds rather nice. Anything to keep from being surrounded by solitude and silence.

"That, too." Another of Kisuke's hands creep under the hem of his shirt. Warm palm pressing against Ichigo's skin as it glides upwards, making all kinds of heat build through him. "Well?"

"No talking," he agrees and turns his head with the perfect timing to meet Kisuke's lips, starting a slow kiss that tastes faintly of plums.

Well, at least someone's eating them.

Hands tickle across his belly, a slow slide against his flesh. Fingers pressing into his skin, crawling upwards, making him shiver with interest. Kisuke presses against him, enveloping him in warmth. His lips are soft and gentle despite the stubble, tongue sliding inside. Ichigo surrenders to it because he wants to. It's so nice to just let go for once, let everything fall away. The darkness slipping to the far, shadowy corners of his heart.

A finger brushes across his nipple and sends a zing of pleasure straight through him. Others slip under the hem of his pants and boxers, a warm palm pressing against Ichigo's thickening arousal. His hips unconsciously arch towards the touch, Kisuke wrapped around him like a living blanket.

The blond's lips break away, trailing across the defined bones of Ichigo's jaw to tongue relentlessly at the side of his throat. Ichigo can feel warm breath ghosting against his skin, and it makes everything inside Ichigo tighten with anticipation. It really does feel better to just let go.

"Bed?" Kisuke questions, voice vibrating against his skin.

Nodding, Ichigo grinds back against him, need slowly building inside. "Bed," he agrees with a desire to forget knocking at his thoughts.

He hears Kisuke groan, a sound of longing. For him. Ichigo hasn't really stopped to think about that, but it hits him in that moment. Kisuke wants him, and Ichigo admits to himself that he wants Kisuke, too. Wants to feel the blond underneath him. Wants the feel of skin against his and the taste of him in his mouth.

The fingers under his shirt ghost down to grasp the hem, pulling it up and over Ichigo's head with the Vizard's assistance. The chill of the room attacks Ichigo, but it's quickly countered by the warm press of Kisuke's body against him as the shopkeeper backs them towards the bed in slowly measured steps.

A mouth falls on the back of Ichigo's shoulder, tongue flicking against his skin as teeth graze in its wake. And hands busy themselves on his pants, deftly sliding them open and off his hips until he's left clad in only his boxers. They too quickly join the pile on the floor. Kisuke presses against him from behind, clothes a soft rustle against Ichigo's bare skin, sensitizing him. It's more erotic than it has right to be.

"Why am I the only one naked?" he asks just as the blond whirls him around, and Ichigo falls back onto the mattress with a slight bounce.

Kisuke looks down on him mischievously, a hint of the teasing geta-boushi who Ichigo remembers from before the war in his eyes. "It suits you better."

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo's response degenerates into a stuttered breath as Kisuke kisses him. Deep and probing, tongue pressing against Ichigo's own. Hands glide down Ichigo's arms, only for fingers to encircle his wrists, pressing them against the mattress carefully. Not quite restraint. He could break free if he wants. But he's curious as to what Kisuke has planned, so Ichigo doesn't struggle. Besides, his body is just as interested.

Kisuke's lips leave Ichigo's mouth, traveling a path across his chin to tongue at Ichigo's ear. He squirms at the unusual feeling until it makes something hot inside him blaze higher. He can feel Kisuke's clothes brushing against him, each bare touch maddening in its infrequency.

Fingers squeeze Ichigo's wrists gently before the blond's mouth moves lower, skating briefly over Ichigo's chest. He can feel each puff of Kisuke's breath against him, the touch as arousing as it is vexing. His lover tongues Ichigo's belly button, prompting him to wriggle at the unusual touch.

"Gah... Stop that."

Kisuke glances up at him through bangs of blond hair. "Why?" he asks, stubble rasping against a bare belly as he brushes his chin over Ichigo's stomach. "You know that you liked it."

That may be so, but still, it's... embarrassing. For lack of a better word.

"Just... don't," Ichigo finishes lamely and shivers when Kisuke's mouth falls back on him, fingers flexing around his wrists.

The ex-captain's lips travel from Ichigo's belly and follow a path up his chest, a nonsense pattern that feels unexpectedly good. Ichigo's hands clench against the covers where Kisuke has pinned them to the bed. He squirms, heat flooding through him.

"What are you doing?" Ichigo questions because this is incredibly different from last time. Not that he's complaining since it feels pretty damn good. He's just curious.

Teeth nibble across his collarbone before skirting to his shoulder, tracing the lines of bone and muscle. "Exploring," Kisuke explains, mouth moving back down to trace over Ichigo's prominent hip bone. "I didn't get to do much of that last time, and I want you to enjoy this."

Ichigo scowls. "I'm not a woman," he protests and wriggles as Kisuke releases his wrists to drag fingers down his side, tracing scars that Inoue's abilities had not erased.

"Ichigo, I would never confuse you for a woman," the blond assures with a chuckle, gray eyes dark with amusement and something else entirely. "I am very aware that you are a man."

Lips press against Ichigo's throat as he tilts his head back, allowing Kisuke the motion. "This, for instance. So prominent," Kisuke comments with a brush of moist air across Ichigo's neck and Adam's apple.

One hand strokes down the Vizard's leg, teasing touches that have no substance. "And these hairy legs," Kisuke adds with another laugh. "Won't find those on a woman. At least, not most of them."

"I'm not shaving," Ichigo says on the edge of a growl, a bit embarrassed by the close attention but also not wishing for it to stop. He feels the heating in his cheeks, and try as he might, he can't make it stop.

"Did I ask you to?" Kisuke returns, sliding back down and grabbing Ichigo's hand, lifting it to his lips.

Ichigo watches, breath catching, as Kisuke draws one finger into his mouth. His warm lips and wet tongue flick over Ichigo's finger.

"Strong fingers, too," the shopkeeper murmurs, catching Ichigo's eyes with a single-minded intent. "Definitely male."

"Not true," Ichigo argues huskily, the soft sucking going straight to his groin and making him leap with interest. "Have you even shaken hands with Tatsuki?"

Kisuke's eyes sparkle before he abruptly laughs, shaking his head. "You're just being contrary."

"And you're just dragging things out to watch me squirm," Ichigo counters heatedly and licks his lips. He's hard, and he's aroused, and he just wants Kisuke to _do_ something about it. Or Ichigo's going to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

"Perhaps," Kisuke says, dragging out the syllables of the word. He lifts Ichigo's finger from his mouth but not before his tongue laps the length of it.

A mixture of annoyance and pressing need thrums through Ichigo. He half-rises, intending to do _something_ when a hand plants itself in the middle of his chest, pushing him back down. Kisuke looms over him, his breathing sharper, eyes bright.

"I'm not done exploring yet," Kisuke murmurs, dipping his head and trailing a line across the middle of Ichigo's chest. "Humor me please."

A sound of aggravation rattles in Ichigo's chest, but he relaxes against the covers anyway. He has some patience after all. Though he doesn't like to use it.

Kisuke reads his compliance and responds accordingly, laving his tongue over the flat disc of Ichigo's nipple. The Vizard moans, back arching as a skip of absolute desire dances through him. Fingers act in perfect counterpoint, palms running flatly over Ichigo's skin. Tracing scars that never went away, evidence of the many battles he's endured in his short life. Teeth nibble at his collarbone, and a tongue follows, making Ichigo squirm and not in a good way. It tickles, and he feels an unwanted urge to chuckle burbling up inside of him. He wiggles away again and tries to avoid the wet tongue, but Kisuke is relentless in his pursuit.

Ichigo's hand plants itself on Kisuke's forehead, pushing him away. "Stop that," he scowls with his face heated.

Kisuke's too smart not to realize why, latching on his lover's weakness in an instant. "Ticklish?" he inquires with a mischievous gleam that doesn't bode well for Ichigo's sanity.

"Don't you da-- Ah!"

His warning dissolves into a moan that doesn't in any way sound intimidating. But Kisuke's just wrapped his fingers around Ichigo's length, giving it a nice stroke and making ten kinds of heat race through his body. He practically melts against the bed, hips rising to encourage more.

Kisuke chuckles. "And this right here," he murmurs, fingertips deftly dancing over Ichigo. "Is the more obvious proof that you are male. And I rather like it."

Ichigo's cheeks burn at the frank compliment. "Fine, I get it," he gasps out, feeling sweat dot his forehead as the need builds up into a crescendo inside of him. "Just _do_ something."

"Anything?" the blond asks, voice all too playful.

And Ichigo's not sure he likes that tone. He thinks to protest, but Kisuke's already shifted further down the bed. And then, Ichigo is engulfed in wet warmth. He clamps down on a shout as Kisuke takes him into his mouth with no hesitation, hips unconsciously surging towards the flicking tongue. He groans, fingers twisting into the covers.

Ichigo glances down at the older man, who looks far too smug for his own good. Kisuke is too damned skilled, flicking over Ichigo's length in all the right ways. Not that he isn't already on the edge, twisting restlessly on the bed and forcing Kisuke to hold his hips in place. He wants to thrust, but Kisuke won't let him, and Ichigo releases a growl of frustration. Words lose their meaning, and all Ichigo has left are inarticulate noises for more.

And then, Kisuke does something with his tongue that Ichigo can't exactly describe, and he loses it. Ichigo moans, hips jerking as he spills into the shopkeeper's mouth, and to his surprise, Kisuke swallows him down. Body taut, Ichigo collapses against the bed, lover's mouth gentle on him as the last of the tremors wrack his body. The former captain pulls back with a lewd licking of his lips as though he's just finished an ice cream cone and not something a hell of a lot less innocent.

"Better?" Kisuke questions, smirking.

He looks too smug for his own good. As though he's the one in complete control here, and Ichigo should bow to his awesomeness. Ichigo can't have that.

In answer, he reaches up, tangles his fingers in Kisuke's clothes, and drags the older man down towards him. Their lips crash together, nothing soft or subtle about it, and as their tongues grapple, Ichigo's fingers tug at the blond's clothes. He can taste himself on the man's tongue, and it's an odd taste but nothing he can't handle.

Kisuke struggles to stay propped over him, and as Ichigo lifts a knee, he feels it collide against the blond's groin. Hard and aching, pressing at its cloth confines. And Ichigo's not the type to lay back and just take it.

With an expert martial twist that would have made his childhood sensei very proud, Ichigo reverses the situation and pins Kisuke beneath him. The shopkeeper makes a startled noise, but Ichigo muffles it with a deep kiss, tongue wrangling his into submission even as Ichigo divests the other man of his loose hakama.

"No underwear?" the Vizard questions, fingers curling around Kisuke and stroking him skillfully. That part at least he needs no explanation for. "I should've known."

"Maybe I just need to do laundry," Kisuke counters, raggedly thrusting into his grip.

Ichigo isn't buying it. "Or maybe you're just a pervert," he teases and slides down the body before him, contemplating the length in his grasp.

He's not done this before. At least, not to a man. His girlfriend never had any complaints, but she came with slightly different equipment and didn't have any other basis of comparison. Kisuke undoubtedly does, but that doesn't mean Ichigo isn't going to try. He's pretty sure he can do this, and now's as good a time to start as any.

Ichigo takes a breath, running his tongue over his lips. Kisuke must be able to read his intent because his eyes widen.

"Ichigo, are you su-- Ahh!" His protest breaks off into a startled moan, which further degenerates into a curse as Ichigo flicks his tongue over the leaking head.

Amused, the Vizard focuses on the task at hand, slowly drawing Kisuke into his mouth and dragging his tongue across the length of it. He attempts to imitate what he remembers feeling for himself, bobbing his head up and down and using his tongue whenever possible. Though Ichigo has the feeling it's not going to take much, not with the way Kisuke is leaking all over his mouth.

Hands drag through Ichigo's hair, fingers ghosting across his scalp, and Ichigo grunts in warning. Kisuke wisely backs off, but it's clear he's struggling to restrain himself. Ha, serves him right for teasing Ichigo so much.

Kisuke is hot and throbbing in Ichigo's mouth, and he can feel each beat of the ex-captain's pulse. It's a strange sensation but not altogether unpleasant. And Ichigo, who never went nearly this far with Jyuushiro, is glad that it seems he can do this without roiling thoughts of revulsion. Though he should have realized that from the first go round. And the fact that of his three semi-relationships, two of them were – are – with men.

His lack of skill doesn't seem to bother Kisuke as Ichigo attempts to take him further into his mouth and fails spectacularly. Fighting back the reflex to gag, Ichigo retreats and concentrates on the sensitive head, curling his fingers around what his mouth can't cover. A sound not unlike a whine echoes from Kisuke's throat like he's damn close to begging, and Ichigo smirks to himself.

Flicking his tongue against Kisuke's shaft, Ichigo is treated to an appealing moan. The blond must be getting close; it's obvious in the urgent rocking of his hips. And Kisuke backs up Ichigo's assumption with a vocal moan.

"Ichigo, I'm going to--"

Kisuke breaks off, but Ichigo's smart enough to hear the warning in his voice. He's not sure he's ready for the whole swallowing thing, so Ichigo wisely backs away. His eyes take in the blond's face, flushed with arousal, and Kisuke moans throatily and bucks into Ichigo's grip. He spills across his lover's hand, fingers twisting into the blanket covering the mattress.

Kisuke lets out a slow exhale, relaxing against the bed as Ichigo draws back to his heels, infinitely pleased with himself. The shopkeeper looks satisfied, skin taking on a healthy glow that Ichigo much prefers to his somber appearance as of late. But then, Ichigo hasn't been looking too cheery either.

He has the feeling no one in this house likes mirrors right now.

Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Ichigo reaches for his discarded shirt and uses it as a makeshift towel. He's too lazy to get up and walk to the bathroom. His body is drained, and he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep. So he crawls completely onto the bed, slumping down next to Kisuke and nuzzling into his neck.

A hand reaches out, dragging down his bare back and making Ichigo shiver.

"Pervert," Ichigo retorts because he can, and it's more like an affectionate nickname at this point.

"Ah, I just love how you sweet-talk me," Kisuke says with a chuckle.

But his fingers don't stop, and Ichigo finds it soothing. He thinks to take a nap. Who cares that it's the middle of the day? It's not like he has pressing business or even anything else to do.

And Ichigo closes his eyes, letting the languid feeling wash through him.

"What's for dinner?" his bedmate suddenly asks.

Ichigo rolls his eyes, wanting to laugh. Kisuke has been banned from the kitchen, so he makes it a point to tease Ichigo about cooking.

"I don't know," he replies with a yawn. "Aizen's cooking."

This prompts a startled sound from the blond. "You're trusting him to make our meals?"

"Did you happen to buy any poison and store it in the kitchen when I wasn't looking?" he returns, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

"Ah, good point," Kisuke allows after a moment.

Ichigo shrugs against the bed. "Yeah, and the whole fact that he's the one who wants our help. Not the other way around. It wouldn't be smart to try and kill either of us."

Kisuke snorts, and Ichigo feels it rumble through his skin. "I never said he was particularly intelligent."

Ichigo looks up, practically feeling the hostility radiate from his bed partner. Kisuke looks disgruntled, his eyes shadowed as though he misses the shielding of his hat.

"He's smarter than you're giving him credit."

Grey eyes gaze at him, narrowing. "You're spending a lot of time with Aizen," Kisuke comments, shifting the topic and pulling Ichigo into a discussion he hadn't wanted to start.

He just wants to take a nap and doesn't particularly like Kisuke's tone either.

"I spend most of my time with the guy," Ichigo retorts. "What do you expect?"

He thinks it sounds an awful lot like Kisuke's trying to be _paternal_ of all things. Which is all too creepy for his liking. Especially with what they've just done and what Ichigo would like to do to him in the future.

"I just don't want you to be manipulated by him," the shopkeeper placates, nothing but concern in his expression and tone. Yet, there's still something in his words that Ichigo doesn't like.

He snorts and sits up, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm not stupid. I _can_ think for myself." The breeze from the ceiling fan tugs at Ichigo's sweaty skin, causing a chill to sweep across his body.

"I didn't imply that you couldn't," Kisuke argues, the bed shifting as he rises, too. "But I think I know Aizen a bit better than you do."

"Yeah?" Ichigo huffs as he tries to decide what precisely the emotions coursing through him were. Annoyance perhaps? Indignation? "I thought that you didn't want to know him at all," he continues. "That you'd be doing your best to forget about him?"

Kisuke appears at his side, having shifted enough on the bed that Ichigo can actually see his profile now. "That's hard to do when he insists on hanging around." His voice lowers, eyes darting around as though he expects Aizen to be peering from behind the dresser or peeking through the crack at the bottom of the door. "Besides, he's too dangerous to let out on his own."

He makes it sound like Aizen is a rabid dog or something. And it is disturbing how similar that last sentiment is to Soul Society's proclamation about Ichigo's own existence. But the Vizard doesn't want to draw parallels, so he forces that thought from his mind.

"Well, where else is he going to go?" Ichigo demands, curious as to Kisuke's opinion on this. "I mean… first, you don't want him here. And then, you say that we can't let him leave. What do you honestly want to do? Stuff him into the closet or something?"

Kisuke frowns with his fingers twitching as though missing the distraction of his fan. "We could get rid of him," he suggests softly but all too smoothly.

And Ichigo knows that he is at best only half-teasing. Testing the waters so to speak. Even so, Ichigo finds the waters to be turbulent.

"You better not mean that the way it sounds," the Vizard counters, not quite sure why he defends Aizen so strongly when even he's not fond of the man's presence. Maybe it's just the lingering part of him that still believes in something like justice.

Ichigo can feel the agitation growing inside of himself. And he's ridiculously glad when Kisuke chooses not to respond to his blatant warning. Ichigo all too happily abandons that line of conversation.

"Can we just drop this?" he asks because Ichigo doesn't want to fight with Kisuke. And especially not about Aizen because then that means the man is niggling between them, and Ichigo doesn't want that either.

"Yes," Kisuke thankfully replies. "Consider it dropped."

It's only a temporary fix because Ichigo knows the issue will only come up again, but for now, he doesn't want to talk about it. He turns and snags Kisuke's lips, just to prove he's not angry or anything, and Kisuke doesn't fight the kiss. Instead, he deepens it. Pulling Ichigo down to lay on top of him and curling a leg around his thigh.

Ichigo returns that fully. But inside, he sighs in relief.

* * *

Ichigo's sitting in the main room, curled up on a chair and poring through a book he's read several times before when Aizen comes strolling in. Nothing unusual, all things considered. He watches the former overlord over the edge of the binding, Aizen making himself right at home on the couch and pointedly staring at the cover.

" _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" Aizen asks with a lifted brow, mirth daring to dance in his dark eyes.

Ichigo immediately scowls, not liking his choice of literature to be mocked. "What? And I suppose you like _Julius Caesar_?"

That seems like the type of story that would interest Aizen, betrayal and war and the like.

But Aizen only inclines his head. "No. Actually, I prefer _The Tempest_."

At the straightforward and honest answer, Ichigo slowly lowers his book. "You've read Shakespeare?" he asks skeptically, but really, should this even surprise him?

"He _is_ one of the greatest literary minds of all time."

He watches as Aizen looks around pointedly, giving off the impression of a youth making sure no parents were in sight. Ichigo would have chuckled at the thought of such if it weren't _Aizen_ sitting right in front of him.

"I don't see Urahara," the older man comments very casually.

Wary at the almost offhand mention of his mentor, Ichigo marks the page in his book and sets it in his lap. "Supply run," he replies, thinking of all the meals they've had in the last week. A hefty collection of sauces and pasta, enough that even Ichigo is getting sick of it. "I wouldn't be surprised if he shows up with several more boxes of pasta." He makes a face, one that would like to try something else for once. "Spaghetti. Risotto. Lasagna. Linguine... I never knew Ura-- Kisuke liked it so much."

He casts an askance glance at Aizen. Visibly catching the former overlord as he thins his lips, a mild look of perturbation on his face. Ichigo can tell that he is trying not to clench his teeth.

"He doesn't."

And that sounds like something Kisuke would do right there.

"Let me guess," Ichigo continues, "you don't like Italian."

"I wouldn't choose it, no." Aizen shakes his head, face twisting in a way that doesn't suit his character at all.

Ichigo snickers. "Figures," he retorts and lifts a hand, counting off his fingers. "You taught middle school. You've read _The Tempest_ , and you hate Italian. You're not as evil as I thought you would be."

No, in fact, all of those attributes make him sound human. Rather than the total and complete demon Ichigo has always assumed him to be. At least, that is the picture that most of the Shinigami painted for him. Even Ukitake, who doesn't have a harsh word to say about anyone, was ambivalent at best towards him. Only Shunsui ever had anything positive to tell.

The former captain blinks. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Well, if you figure in the way everybody talks about you, I'd have thought you only did awful things," Ichigo explains, switching hands for his next list. "Like steal candy from babies. Kick puppies. Unscrew the lid on a salt shaker." He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping him out of fond remembrance. "Actually, I _know_ that Kisuke's done that last one."

As a matter of fact, no one at the table had been fond of the shopkeeper for several days after that. And for good reason. Renji had never left his food or the table unattended at the shouten again.

Amusement flickers into Aizen's eyes. And Ichigo can honestly say that is a good look for Aizen. Making him seem gentler and much more approachable. A shadow of why so many people originally put their trust in him. He seems too much the kindly but nerdish gentleman. More interested in books than conquest.

If Ichigo didn't know this man's true nature, he'd probably believe it, too.

"I'm not fond of candy," Aizen responds easily, voice a pleasant tenor. "Puppies are too small of targets, and the rest is a bit counter-productive." His lips pull into a light and agreeable smile. "Though I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Ichigo isn't sure what Aizen is implying with those words. So he decides to shrug and look away, dismissing them.

"You're just not what I expected," he clarifies warily, refusing to let Aizen think he's managed to sway Ichigo to his side just yet. "You're too... _human_."

But then, there is a dark cast to Aizen's face. One that flashes across his features in an instant. Returning him to his previous state effortlessly.

"Most monsters are," the man allows.

He says it so blandly, so simply, that Ichigo can't help but stare at Aizen in surprise. The ex-overlord all but declares himself to be evil incarnate as though it is nothing to be ashamed of at all, as though it is a simple truth of the universe. Water is wet. Clouds are in the sky. And Aizen Sousuke has killed hundreds without mercy or remorse.

But then, some part of Ichigo acknowledges, Aizen does have a point. All Ichigo has to do is look at the daily news to know that much. All he has to remember is Rukia's execution and how determined her own brother was to kill her. All he has to recall is the other Vizard and how swiftly Soul Society was quick to condemn its saviors. All he has to do is consider himself and his own situation.

"How true," Ichigo agrees quietly, forcing himself not to think anymore. "All of us are capable of good and evil."

Aizen shifts, fingers tapping on the couch arm as though in nervous habit. Only reinforcing what Ichigo had said earlier.

"There is no such thing as either, Kurosaki-kun," he returns in an even and very honest tone. "Only infinite possibilities."

Brown eyes narrowing, Ichigo watches Aizen. A sense of understanding grows within him.

"You really believe that, don't you? That nothing of what happened or what you did was wrong?" Unconsciously, his hands draw into tight fists. Ichigo remembers – _blood death Renji oh kami there's blood everywhere_ – and feels the familiar rage burning a slow, cold path through him.

Aizen's gaze is steadying, unapologetic. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't still believe in it."

The answer is given without hesitation. And Ichigo's entire body threatens to shake, the memories crowding against him, reminding him of why he shouldn't trust this man. And why he shouldn't even consider Aizen's request.

"Do you even feel remorse at all?" he questions before he can stop himself.

To Aizen's credit, the man at least considers Ichigo's question. He doesn't answer immediately, quietly thinking. And Ichigo swears to himself that if Aizen doesn't regret a single thing about his war, then Ichigo is going to walk away here and now. Even Soul Society – corrupt and heartless that it is – carries some regret.

A shadow falls across Aizen's face though, one tainted with sorrowful emotions. One that Ichigo can recognize all too well. He sees it in the mirror every day.

"Perhaps," Aizen concedes.

Which for all intents and purposes, means _yes_.

Ichigo doesn't know what or who Aizen is currently thinking about, but it's obvious there's something that is making him reconsider his bid for the throne. And it's that _something_ that reminds Ichigo that Aizen is truly just a human. Just a man. And not a monster like he wants – perhaps needs – to believe. That idea of something regrettable to Aizen eases Ichigo's conscience, even if only by an inch.

There may be something in him worth salvaging, Ichigo thinks. The choice may not be as simple as he would like to believe.

"And what's that for?" Ichigo prods, not thinking for a second that Aizen will trust him with it. And it is a snide, bruised part of himself that spits out the next accusation. "Not winning?"

Aizen doesn't flinch. Maybe he thinks that it's his due.

"Among other things." He shifts position, shoulders squared. "I don't regret my choices, Kurosaki-kun. Soul Society... is a bad place." Aizen laughs, but it lacks humor and stings bitterly. "You know just as well as I do that it had to be done. If not me, then by someone else."

"Maybe," Ichigo concedes.

He forces himself to chase away the memories before he loses all control. He wants to understand right now. If necessary, retribution can come later.

"But did it have to be in that manner?" he asks a few heartbeats later.

"If you're referring to the war and the results of it, yes," Aizen answers simply.

And Ichigo bites his tongue on a shout of outrage because it's obvious that Aizen has more to say.

"All other methods have proven useless," the ex-captain continues. "There was no room for talk. Words have lost their meaning to those in a position of influence. Only action remained."

Ichigo sighs. "You keep saying how terrible Soul Society is, and yeah, I know some of it. But I get the feeling there's more. A lot more."

He thinks that he has every right to hate Aizen as much as he despises Soul Society and its corruption right now. And Ichigo has this terrible, awful feeling that there's more lurking in the shadows. That he'll only come to loathe Soul Society further if Aizen explains even a quarter of the knowledge he has gathered. And a part of Ichigo doesn't want to know because then he might find himself siding with the man, and he isn't sure he's ready to do that yet.

"If I thought you would believe me, I would fix your ignorance," Aizen responds quietly, looking at Ichigo with that same steady gaze. One that doesn't hide. "But some of these matters are perhaps heard from a different mouth."

"Kisuke?"

Aizen inclines his head. "You should ask Urahara sometime about the true purpose of the Onmitsukidoh. You know he was a member of it, don't you? That he served under Shihouin Yoruichi?"

Ichigo remembers Kisuke mentioning it before, during those times in the last years where they sat up late in the night, talking of old things. The war was usually avoided, but when prompted, Ichigo could sometimes convince Kisuke to tell him about the past before things went sour for him. Memories of his time as a captain and even earlier than that. Back all the way to when he'd just been a boy.

He nods.

"He was the third-seat. In charge of special detention," Aizen carries on with a strange light in his eyes. "That in particular should be of interest to you."

"Special detention?" Ichigo repeats, even as a part of him squirms in realization.

He has the feeling he isn't going to need much else explanation. He remembers Soul Society saying something similar when pronouncing his fate. In fact, Ichigo distinctly remembers the new second division captain's mention of the Maggot's Nest, is it? The place that they planned to confine him. In the dank, darkness for the rest of his life.

Ichigo shivers unconsciously and isn't even slightly relieved by the ill cast to Aizen's expression.

"As I said," the man repeats, "you should ask him. You're more likely to believe him than myself."

A tone is there, a slight variance to Aizen's speech that hints to more. Ichigo looks at the brunet and comes to a startling and absolutely mortifying revelation. It is a small house, after all, with thin walls. No doubt Aizen has already been privy to the not-so-subtle change in Ichigo's relationship with Kisuke. And it is probably the main reason he is pressing so much on Ichigo's trust in the blond.

The Vizard wonders what Aizen is thinking right now. About Ichigo and Kisuke. If it bothers him. And then, he wonders why Aizen's opinion should matter to him. Ichigo doesn't know, but he does feel he needs to ask. There's a niggling feeling in his stomach, and it's focusing on Aizen's fixation with trust and the reasons behind it.

"You're not going to say anything?" Ichigo questions, knowing that the purposefully vague statement won't confuse Aizen at all. The man's too smart not to understand what Ichigo means.

Aizen rises to his feet and moves to peruse the bookshelves. "About what?" he asks, fingers sliding over the titles available. "Your relationship with Urahara? I don't see why I should."

And yet, there's a tightness to his tone that implies he has something he wants to say but won't for various reasons known only to Aizen.

Still, Ichigo cocks his head. "You don't have an opinion?" he presses, anticipating the usual arguments one would normally toss at Ichigo. The sort of things he expected to hear had things ever progressed with Jyuushiro, but he doesn't like to think about that either.

"Like he's too old for me?" Ichigo inserts. "Or I should go find some cute girl? Inoue. Rukia... Someone?"

Ichigo is used to everyone trying to decide things for him. Even Kisuke is guilty of that. So he fully expects Aizen to have some sort of opinion, some sort of advice as to what Ichigo should and shouldn't do. Or perhaps Aizen's lack of opinion is just his way of appearing the good guy, of getting on Ichigo's good side. It's hard to tell.

In the end, Aizen is the one who wants something from Ichigo, not the other way around. And since Ichigo has yet to make that decision – or at least share what he _has_ chosen – Aizen is still trying to win him over. It is a fact that Ichigo has to keep reminding himself, and then, it circles back around to the whole Kisuke and trust thing that Aizen seems fixated on.

It always comes back to trust. Or a lack thereof.

Aizen pauses, fingertip stuck on a book whose title Ichigo can't see from his current position. "You are free to do as you wish. I have no right to question you."

It almost sounds rehearsed. And Ichigo would pursue that further. Except that his ears and mind have focused on something else, something that Aizen has just said without thinking of the repercussions.

Free to do as he wished?

Ichigo would laugh if the thought didn't piss him off so much. Ichigo is free to do nothing, not anymore. He can't leave this house for danger of being found. He can't go home. He can't return to the life he wanted. He can't do much of any damn thing anymore all because of the man standing before him right now.

That reminder breaks Ichigo's composure. And he finds himself on his feet, forcing out a civility that he doesn't feel.

"Unfortunately, it's the only thing I'm free to do, isn't it?" Ichigo bites out, unable to stop the sneer that twists his lips. "Enjoy your reading."

He turns and leaves, because the anger that twists inside of him needs an outlet and right now, Aizen's the only target in sight. And if he's going to try and understand this man, he can't be attacking him now, can he? Ichigo still has a decision to make.

Though he supposes it isn't unexpected that he's still bitter. It's been under two weeks. He's heard nothing from his family; he's a wanted man. Ichigo is trapped by these walls, and it's driving him crazy. It doesn't help that his only company is a man he barely stops himself from attacking and his mentor. Both of whom bicker at each other on a constant basis.

Ichigo can't help but wonder how long it'll take for him to go mad entirely.


	16. Interlude Three: Kings and Queens

My Dearest Nanao-chan,

I know you wonder why I left this for you and not Jyuushiro, my oldest and best friend, but he and I have already long spoken all the secrets between us. He knows me as well or better than I know myself. No, I want it for you because out of everyone else left with us now, you are undoubtedly the closest and dearest to me. More than anything, I want you to understand, to one day look back at this time with eyes wide open. To know the truth beneath all of the illusions and lies.

No father should have to outlive his son. I saw what it did to Jyuushiro. What it does to him even now. He'll remember it until his dying day. It will be the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last at night. And has been for the last five decades. Only Ichigo-kun has ever managed to make him contemplate anything else. And I don't have the luxury and joy of such love anymore.

No father should outlive his son. And I have the feeling that I won't.

But I suppose that I brought this on myself. I suspected… Long have I suspected something, but I didn't do anything. I turned and looked the other way because this was Sousuke, and the only person I trusted more has been my friend for two thousand years. Because I know what we have become, what we have allowed Soul Society to be, and it's honestly not like he can do much worse. Because this boy who is now a grown man is the closest I will ever come to a son of my own, and the blood flowing through his veins is the same that ran in my beloved wife. And she more than anyone would understand, would realize the painful truth of this situation.

My Shuurei was barely older than you when we married. I was already a captain by then and had been for over a millennium. But she cared nothing for the difference in our ages or the prestige that came with being one of Yama-jii's chosen. Shuurei only ever saw me, and she loved me anyway. I still haven't figured out why.

She wasn't a Shinigami and held only the vaguest curiosity about us. Shuurei had always been more into books than boys or swords or fighting. Rather a bit like you in that. No, my precious flower was of all things the head librarian at the central building. Proper and prim with dark eyes glaring at me from behind her glasses when I knocked over an entire bookshelf. That was how we met, and in my defense, it was all Isshin's fault. And the sorry bastard only laughed while she berated me like a puppy who had tracked mud into the house. I was smitten instantly, and that only deepened when she made me pick up all the books by myself. But she gave me sake in her office afterwards and smirked as she told me a story about doing the same when she was younger. Though she'd at least been smart enough to blame someone else.

We were married just over a year later. She followed me home one night three months into our courtship and just never seemed to leave afterward. Her mother cried at her oldest daughter getting married, and I believe our wedding was the only time I ever saw her sister smile genuinely. Say what I want about Sakura, but she loved her sister at least, if not her son.

Shuurei was everything I'd always wanted and loved in a woman. Smart with a wicked tongue. Sweet and gentle when she wished but with steel underneath the silk. Both a proper lady and a raging tempest when angered. You berate me about my habits, Nanao-chan, but Shuurei could drink both me and Jyuu underneath the table and still be raring to go afterwards. That woman was a goddess.

She would've made a wonderful mother. And we wanted children, Shuurei and I. A daughter, beautiful and dainty as her mother. And a son, gentle but playful with her quick wit. Both with her glasses and laugh and love of life. And hopefully neither would have any of my more… let's say _pestering_ traits.

We got neither. We tried. Oh, how we tried. Not that it was an onerous task by any means. But parenthood was beyond us both. I do not know if it was her fault or mine. Retsu-chan does, but we asked her not to tell us. It was better that way. Kept everyone blameless but still aching. It didn't make us feel better, but it kept us from feeling far worse. And I suspect though I never had the heart to tell her that the fault lay with me. I was very wild and impetuous in my youth, and yet, none of those unions ever resulted in a child despite my carelessness and levels of reiatsu even then.

But even without that, we were happy. I had my division, and it was filled with enough children for us both to love and nurture. She had her books, the only thing in her life that she cherished as much as me. And we had each other.

Yet, with all things, it didn't last. It was a ravaging sickness that spread through Seireitei from Rukongai. That cold spring took many. Isshin's youngest brother, Byakuya-bo's grandmother, and my wife.

But the following one gave me something back. A nephew. My second, yes. But this one all the dearer to my heart. I could see her fire behind his eyes the moment I first held him, the next one to do so after Retsu-chan. His own mother, my wife's haughty and pretentious sister, was already shoving him away even then. Cursing the boy she'd gotten when she had so wanted a girl.

Were it not for looks, for the uncanny resemblance, I'd never have known that my wife and her sister were even related. But it was very obvious that Shuurei and Sousuke shared blood. In truth, he could've easily passed for her son were it not for the date of his birth. He was everything both of us had wanted in a child. Her intelligence and looks, my reiatsu and charm. And you will never understand how much it pained me in the early years, how much it was a stab to the chest to tell strangers that no, this wasn't my son. Just my nephew. But not just my nephew.

I know that he did not have an easy life in the beginning. That his father, may all the gods damn him eternally, was not a kind man. That all the attention went to the eldest, to the heir. And that Sousuke was often ignored and usually belittled when he wasn't.

If I were truly a good man, I would've done something sooner. I would've done something more. My only excuse is that the truth would've hurt Sousuke all the worse. That the accusation would've resulted in nothing but embarrassment for him and that his father was too powerful to get more than a verbal censure and a request to be more circumspect.

But in the end, I could only do what I thought best. To open my home and my life to him. To teach him all that I know. Only to have him use that knowledge against me. Against all of us.

And while part of me can understand why, another part never will. Will never be able to comprehend what could make him turn so completely against us. What could take him so far out of my reach.

They talk about the evils of Aizen, about how far he has fallen to consort with Hollows. To become one in everything but fact. How he cruelly slaughtered Chamber 46 and stabbed his own lieutenant. How he turned captain against captain and brother against sister.

And yet… Yet, all I can remember is the little boy who barely came above my knee. The child who needed help putting on his sandals. The boy Jyuu and I taught how to read, how he used to stumble over all the difficult words but was so completely pleased when he finally got them right. I still recall that his first crush was on a girl with blue eyes and a too short skirt who one day became my lieutenant. That he scrunches his nose just like Shuurei when he finds something funny but is too polite to laugh. That his smile is all her. And the gleam in his eyes is so familiar that I sometimes forget to breathe.

It may make me naïve; it may make me foolish. But I still want to believe the best of him. Believe that there is something inside worth saving. That it wasn't all a lie. That every lesson and shared meal and commiseration about being a captain was real and not part of the illusion.

I can only wish. Only pray. Only hope that it was real. I hope for a lot of things.

I hope that Jyuushiro and Ichigo have a long and happy life together. Filled with laughter and smiles and romance. Definitely that last one.

I hope that you remain as you are. You are perfect exactly that way, despite all teasing to the contrary. Don't let any man – or woman – tell you differently.

I hope for Ki-kun to stop blaming himself. And for Yoruichi to stop leading the poor boy on.

I hope to look at Retsu and not see her heart breaking.

I hope for Sousuke to wake up and realize what he has become. I hope for Gin-chan and Tousen to do the same.

I hope for this war to end and for us all to survive. Even though I know that will never happen.

I hope for peace and prosperity not just in Seireitei but Rukongai, too. For children to grow up with nothing but wonder.

I hope that my son somehow, someway lives. That he manages to escape. Even if it comes back to bite us in the ass a thousand years from now, I want him to live.

But most of all, most of all, I hope for forgiveness. From you. From him. From everyone. From myself.

Have a wonderful life, Nanao. Enjoy it to the fullest. I wish you the best of everything.

I give you and everyone all my love.

Your dear friend and captain,

_Shunsui_

P.S.

I swear that I wasn't the one stealing your favorite tea all these years. I have a suspicion who it was, but you'll never catch him doing it. The white-haired sneak is too good for that.

* * *

Bile rises in his throat as he all but stomps through the streets of Seireitei. Passersby hasten out of his way or are frozen in place as he passes, but he can't bring himself to care. He's just too pissed off for it. Too pissed off to even think straight. To do more than throw the door to his office open with a snarl and stalk to his desk. It's already rimmed with ice before he can even sit, and that only grows as he throws himself down in his chair and brings his clenched fists to rest on top.

Furious doesn't even begin to describe his current mood. Nor do enraged or wrathful.

They had dared threaten _her_. Her! Karin! His… well, more-than-a-friend. Had made him go to the house she still shared with her sister, father, and occasionally her brother. Had made him question her about her brother's whereabouts. Had searched through not only Kurosaki's belongings but also hers. Seeking some hint of deception. Some miniscule sign that she's lying and does indeed know the location of Kurosaki Ichigo.

But Toushirou is willing to bet an entire year's salary that she doesn't. That the hurt and pain and fear gleaming in her eyes are nothing if not genuine. That she honestly doesn't have a clue, and that frightens her. Terrifies her in the way of someone who has lost in the past. Who knows the realities of death in an intimate way.

His only saving grace of the day is that his own division was the one to do the search, and that they were smart enough not to do a very thorough job of it. They obviously didn't find the stack of papers she keeps in the vent in her closet, letters sent from Toushirou himself both during and after the war. She keeps other things there, too. Other far more incriminating things that would certainly get him severely reprimanded if not outright fired. Consorting with a still living human is grounds for dismissal. Not that it stopped her father. Karin and her siblings are clear evidence of that.

Toushirou sighs then and puts his head in his hands, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes. He won't get anything done today, and he knows it. He's too frustrated for paperwork, and he's not a bully to take it out on his division either. He just sighs again and pushes himself to his feet, striding for the door.

Matsumoto, for once at her desk, takes a single look at him before giving a firm nod and motioning for him to go on. And her hand trails across his shoulder as he walks by, a gesture of comfort and solidarity. All that she dares show even here, his inner sanctum. No telling who might be watching.

He exits the building and strides through the compound like a man on a mission. Which he is of sorts. But his destination is actually the division next door. Toushirou isn't an odd sight at the eleventh, not these days. He and Zaraki have reached an understanding of sorts, a type of respect and almost friendship born from blood and sweat shed together. It doesn't hurt that their divisions are neighboring and were paired together during the war. Toushirou himself spent a significant part of it in and around the upper-seats of the eleventh, Ayasegawa and Madarame before his death. The fact that he kept Kusajishi Yachiru from meeting a similar fate while nearly suffering it himself bought him their respect.

But that's only Zaraki's half of the equation, just half of the reason for being friendlier. For Toushirou, it's a lot simpler. Zaraki Kenpachi doesn't treat him like a kid. Never has. Never will. The war only cemented that between them.

It's easy to get into the eleventh division compound; he just walks through the front door with a nod to the guards. The main building is out front, and a few people even call out greetings when he passes them on his way to the captain's office. Ayasegawa is seated at the lieutenant's desk and glances up at him with his lips twitching. The closest he comes to smiling these days, the scar on his face standing out in sharp contrast to the rest of his even features.

Kusajishi waves at him as he walks up to her just outside the office door. "Hey, Toushou!" she chirps, moving in for the glomp.

Which he allows if only because he knows that avoiding it will lead to something worse later on. He doesn't even comment on her insufferable nickname that still manages to be better than Shirou-chan ever was. Not that anyone calls him Shirou-chan anymore. Ukitake's too busy to see him outside of meetings, and Hinamori is beyond speaking. Not dead… but she might as well be.

The girl eventually has her fill of assaulting him and steps back to peer at his face. "You don't look happy either. Ken-chan's been frowny today too, Toushou," she informs him, grin faltering for a moment as her eyes dart around surreptitiously. "They're still lookin' for Ichi, and that stuffy bitch-lady from the eighth's been snoopin' around 'gain."

If anything, that only makes his scowl deepen. He doesn't say anything as he heads into Zaraki's office and more specifically the porch behind it that faces the training grounds. He knows that Zaraki is there by the swell of reiatsu in the air, but it's subdued enough to let him know that the man can't be doing anything more strenuous than drinking sake.

Which he is in fact doing when Toushirou steps out. Zaraki doesn't even turn to see who it is and just waves him over. The man might not be able to spiritually sense his way out of a paper bag, but there are only so many people willing to come by his division. Much less barge through his office without so much as a by-your-leave. And Zaraki just offers the sake jug as Toushirou sits beside him. But he declines, knowing that it is far too early in the day for that. No matter how tempting.

He's not Matsumoto, after all. Not Kyouraku Shunsui. And Chamber 46 would have his head on a pike if they found him sloshed on the job. Particularly at his physical age.

Zaraki takes one look at him, a fine layer of frost still coating his haori, and shakes his head.

"Sent ya to Karakura, didn't they?" the older captain questions with a deceptively light tone as his fingers fiddle with the cup in his hand.

"Yeah." Toushirou flicks a piece of ice from his sock. "But Kurosaki wasn't there. Not that I thought he'd be. He's not an idiot. Not completely," he adds just because he can.

Zaraki snorts. "He's smarter than most people realize. Had ta be ta get into that school of his and ta live as long as he did. But they only see a dumb kid. One they think they can manipulate."

Toushirou inclines his head. It's nothing but the truth. Chamber 46 only sees a human when they look at Kurosaki, only see a boy. A dangerous boy, yes. But just a boy. They don't see the man he's become. The man who fought and bled and sacrificed so much for his friends. Who wouldn't let Toushirou face his past and his personal demons by himself. Who believed in him even when most of the Gotei 13 thought that he'd joined Kusaka and stolen the King's Seal.

"They probably think the same 'bout his family, too," Zaraki adds. "What'd yer girl say?"

There's no point in protesting the implication inherent in that sentence. At least not to this man. Zaraki Kenpachi probably has a better grasp of the goings-on in Seireitei and among the Shinigami than just about anyone. After all, he's one of the few who spotted Aizen, Tousen, and Ichimaru for what they were. He just hadn't been able to convince anyone else.

"She hasn't seen him since before we dragged him off," Toushirou continues after a moment. "She's--"

Scared. Lost. Confused.

"--worried," he decides. "She thinks they'll do something to her or Yuzu in an attempt to flush him out. But she's more worried about her brother."

Zaraki takes a sip. "Che. She has a right ta be. No tellin' what they'll do _if_ they find him."

And that is the key word, isn't it?

Toushirou has his doubts that the new head of the eighth can find her ass with both hands and a squad full of helpers. Kyouraku was many things, but at least competent was one of them. He can't say as much for the new captains. It looks like Chamber 46 went for mindless obedience over actual aptitude and skill. Not that he'd ever say that aloud. Seireitei is just one giant mess. Filled with corruption and greed and a captain-commander who is too weak to put a stop to it. To even stand up for the man who was almost his lover and would've been more if given half the chance.

"Fuckin' shit. That's what this is," Zaraki mutters then. As if he's read Toushirou's mind. "Trumped up evidence. Farce trial. Not that I was even allowed in fer it." His face darkens at the reminder. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that they made this up, too. That they still have Ichigo and are only playin' that they don't."

Toushirou's eyes widen in surprise. He can certainly see the possibility now that it's been brought up. But that would be too easy, too convenient. And he doesn't even want to contemplate Karin's reaction.

"But I don't really believe that," Zaraki puts in after taking a long draw from his cup. "Ichigo deserves better, and he's got a lot of friends. Wouldn't be too hard fer them ta arrange somethin'. Those Vizard 'specially. They were never exiled like Urahara. They can still come and go as they please. And they really hate us at the moment. Would probably free Ichigo if only to spite us."

"I'm not sure if it was them though." Toushirou fingers the hem of his shihakushou absentmindedly. "There are plenty of others in the city who weren't happy with the ruling."

The older captain rolls his shoulders. "Like Kuchiki-hime."

And there's something to his tone of voice. Something both vaguely amused and a bit intrigued. Like there's a puzzle laid out before him and Zaraki can't help but put some of the pieces together. Toushirou already knows his theories about Kuchiki Byakuya and Kurosaki's possible connection. He himself saw the way Kuchiki watched out for the loudmouthed substitute, looked after him the same way he does his sister and did Abarai when he was still around. Almost proprietary. Like he felt some sort of responsibility for him. A strange thing indeed since Ukitake was the one to sponsor Kurosaki into the ranks and to almost date him.

"Oh?" Toushirou lifts an eyebrow and wonders where Zaraki will go with this. "What about him?"

Zaraki tips his head back. "Just seems ta be takin' it personal. 'Specially when he learned that his sister was the one ta tattle on Ichigo in the first place. Haven't seen her 'round lately. Hasn't dared show her face. Not after Yachiru got through with her." He gives a predatory smile then. "Kuchiki-hime still ain't too pleased 'bout that, but he's got other stuff on his mind. He's been throwin' around some mighty pointed questions lately. He and that Shihouin cat-woman. I think they're both out for blood."

"They're not the only ones," Toushirou mumbles, catching Zaraki's eye. "Are they?"

There is a silent exchange then. One they don't dare put into words, even here. Even with Zaraki's reiatsu enough to knock out a Menos Grande and to obscure their words to any eavesdroppers. An exchange that says they are among those already mentioned. That they know something is rotten to the core in Soul Society. That they didn't fight a war and almost lose everything just to have themselves shackled down. And that there are people in good need of a lesson if not outright killing.

"Nope," Zaraki agrees, and he pulls out another cup and fills it full of sake.

This time Toushirou takes it. And their cups make a dull sound as they clink together in salute. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toushou: frostbite
> 
> AN: Credit for Hitsugaya's nickname goes to Lala to the power of 2.


	17. Domesticity

Kisuke gasps and ducks backwards, barely avoiding a high-flying kick aimed for his face. Sometimes, he regrets teaching Ichigo so well. Or even allowing Yoruichi to teach him so well. Granted Ichigo is skilled in martial arts all on his own – Isshin is good for something, after all. But then, adding second division training to the mix?

It is like asking for trouble. Doubly so when he adds in the fact that Ichigo is beyond fast, even when he isn't in bankai and still lacks his mask. Truthfully, he's good enough at shunpo these days to give Yoruichi a run for her money, good enough that he left even Soifon and Byakuya-bo reddened and panting in his wake during the war.

The blond wonders if it is a hint of his Hollow abilities leaking through or if this is just a reflection of his natural proclivities. His bankai is built for speed in point of fact, and for that, it needs some basis in his normal state. And if Kisuke really considers the matter, Isshin's family is known for their gifts involving shunpo.

Not that Ichigo would know that. And not that the blond is going to tell him any time soon. That is a very delicate matter best left for a time when he has room to explain without Lord High-and-Mighty himself loitering outside their door. He has a feeling that Ichigo won't take the news well or that he'll do so quietly. And really, Kisuke still wonders if it is his place to say anything. If he _can_ say anything. Ichigo is his former student turned lover. But Isshin is still his friend and has been for a very long time. Long before Ichigo was born or Isshin left Soul Society for greener pastures.

His introspection is abruptly ended by an open palm flying directly into the junction between his stomach and chest. It hits before Kisuke can even think to block. He lets out a pained grunt but keeps going, twisting around so that Ichigo is now between him and the wall. The space they're in is confined, their bedroom with all the furniture pushed to the side, but it's the only place they can blow off some steam since this house doesn't have an underground training room yet.

Kisuke uses that fact to his advantage as he feints twice and then moves to sweep out Ichigo's feet. But the Vizard knows him too well and is too fast besides, sliding to the left and grasping his shoulder. Before he can do more than start to shift his weight away, Ichigo is already using his momentum to throw Kisuke to the ground. He follows it up with a move that'd be a killing blow in a real fight if it connects, but he stops short. Letting the blond go with nothing more than a soft tap. A signal that their spar is over and that Ichigo is the definite winner. But he can't even bring himself to pout too much at that. Not when Ichigo is grinning like that, not when the shadows are gone from his face and there is only a smile. Even if Kisuke's own pride is smarting just a twinge, which is what he gets for allowing his mind to wander in the first place.

The kisses afterwards, however, are more than worth the bruises. The taste of Ichigo and sweat and desire on his tongue. The way his lover's fingers are firm but cradling on his hips. How he uses one hand to tilt Kisuke's chin at just the right angle to keep their noses from bumping. And that when he finally pulls back, it isn't all the way. Standing there with his arms still around Kisuke's back and a soft cast to his face.

His only regret is that it doesn't go farther than that, but they're both still new at this. Still testing the waters. And if Kisuke is perfectly honest, the anticipation gives his desire an edge. A sweet and sharp tang that makes him want Ichigo that much more.

"Thanks," Ichigo says a moment later. Face easy if not smiling anymore.

Kisuke doesn't even need to ask what it is for. He was the one to initiate the distraction in the first place. Just glad that Ichigo is no longer brooding about his lack of response from his family. It is hard for him to be away from his sisters for this long. Even during the war, there were regular letters. Some courtesy of Yoruichi. Some brought to him by Hitsugaya, who still maintains a friendly if surreptitious correspondence with Karin. This is the longest Ichigo has ever gone without hearing from them in some way. Either in person or by letter or phone. Kisuke can forgive him for being worried; he can't help but feel the same, even if he hides it better.

"They'll be fine, Ichigo. I promise that they will," the shopkeeper states with as much conviction as he can muster, a surprising amount.

"Even Kon?"

The question is deceptively light. Deceptively void of emotion.

Kisuke sighs. "They have no way of knowing what he is. The only Shinigami still alive who knows is Kuchiki-san, and I think she's learned her lesson about telling tales."

Ichigo's face pulls into a deep scowl, and he tilts his head back to glare at the ceiling. Kuchiki Rukia is a sore spot and will undoubtedly remain so for awhile. It isn't everyday that a friend stabs him in the back, even if unintentionally. And just from their history alone, from how much Ichigo sacrificed because she asked him, Kisuke cannot blame his lover for being so incredibly hurt by her actions.

"It'll be alright," Kisuke cuts into the thoughts unquestionably running rampant through Ichigo's head. "It'll all work out. We just need to take our time and plan. Things might not be perfect now… or even for awhile, but we'll get there."

"But what if--"

"I promise," Kisuke repeats, and he is so close now that their noses brush.

Ichigo just nods, silent for a moment. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"You're welcome. And you really don't have to keep thanking me," he replies, brushing a stray and sweaty lock of hair from Ichigo's face and allowing his hand to linger. "Feeling better now that you've stomped me into the ground?"

"I didn't stomp you," Ichigo retorts without heat, almost playful. "You fell."

"I fell?" the ex-captain repeats incredulously. "You threw me!"

His young lover cocks his head to the side. "You enjoyed it. You like being manhandled."

"Only when it's you." Kisuke bats his eyelashes coyly and wishes for his fan, but it's in the dresser drawer.

Ichigo snorts. "I'll keep that in mind later tonight."

"Oh?" He can admit that his interest is piqued. "Is that a promise?" One hand travels around Ichigo's side to rest on his back before sliding lower.

"More like a threat." But the gleam in his eyes gives him away as he leans in to nip at Kisuke's lips.

"Is that right?" the shopkeeper responds when he pulls back.

"Yeah, it is." Ichigo chuckles.

And the sound travels straight down the blond's spine, across his belly, and into his groin. Which rapidly hardens. With a smirk, Kisuke slowly and seductively goes in to capture those ever tempting lips. But Ichigo deftly tilts his head to the side at the last second and then proceeds to take a deep sniff.

"Damn… We both need to take a shower," Ichigo declares and abruptly steps away.

Kisuke doesn't miss the twinkle in his eyes as his friend heads for the door, but he can only stare dumbfounded for several heartbeats. Can only look after him poised in the same position as before, seconds away from delivering another kiss.

"You… You tease!" Kisuke calls after him as he recovers. "You ungrateful tease! That was so mean!"

And Ichigo just laughs and keeps heading for the bathroom. Kisuke trails after, but he graciously allows his lover first dibs, biting his tongue on a suggestion that they share. He knows that if he sees Ichigo naked, he's not going to be able to control himself, and Kisuke needs to exhibit some restraint. It will hardly do for him to ravage the boy in the shower. At least, this early in the relationship. There'll be plenty of time for that later. Once he's managed to remove their annoying houseguest. After that, all bets are off. And there are several rooms in this place that still need christening in his special perverted style.

Still, the thought of all that steam and hot water and Ichigo in combination is nearly enough to do him in. Nearly enough to make him open the door and join in, damn the consequences. But before Kisuke can do that, he hears the shower turn off, and Ichigo emerges into the hallway a few minutes later. Sadly, he is fully dressed, but he does grin when he sees Kisuke waiting there. Gifting him with a quick kiss that is far too fleeting for the blond's taste. Like a little teasing promise of more for later. Or maybe that's his own wishful thinking.

It is all he can do to go into the bathroom instead of following Ichigo back to their bedroom, and he locks the door behind him if only for his peace of mind. Not that he thinks that Ichigo will come back, but he doesn't dare do anything less with Aizen on the same continent, much less within the same house.

The water is warm when he steps under it a moment later, hotter than he usually likes it. But it's still at the setting Ichigo used, and he can't bring himself to adjust it. He has other problems to deal with first, most noticeably the still hardened and aching part of himself that he'd tried his best to ignore earlier. And Kisuke feels a bit deprived as he deals with the matter himself, wishing that there were another hand and another person helping him along.

He emerges from the bathroom sometime later, both frustrated and satiated, and his nose twitches at the delicious aroma in the air. Kisuke is drawn by the intoxicating scent of dinner and wanders to the kitchen as though called, desperately hoping that Aizen isn't the one standing at the stove. He doesn't want to give that bastard any sort of compliment, even if the food Aizen is occasionally allowed to make is somewhat palatable.

Kisuke's towel falls across his shoulders as he drags his fingers through his wet hair, putting it in some semblance of order. Second-division training makes for silent footsteps in the off chance that it is Aizen, and he peers around the corner. Only for a grin to split his face.

Ichigo is cooking. Much, much better.

And Kisuke has to admit he rather likes the sight of him chopping vegetables for some sort of meal. The ex-captain doesn't know what it is, but he'll bet it's good. Ichigo learned from the best, after all. Yuzu has skills that make even trained chefs weep with envy.

There's something immensely attractive about the sight of Ichigo standing at the counter, the bow of his apron hanging low across his back. The stretch of his shoulders, the taper of his body towards his hips. The line of his bare neck just above the head loop of the apron. It's like that bare patch of tanned skin is calling Kisuke, asking him to say hello.

Ichigo smells like body wash and cooking spices, the blond notices as he buries his face in the back of Ichigo's neck, tongue touching the bare skin. His arms slide around the younger man as Kisuke breathes in the enticing aroma of dinner and Ichigo. He rather likes the idea of having one and then the other. Maybe both of them on the table at the same time.

In his arms, Ichigo stills. "I can't chop with you clinging to me like a wet blanket," he says, the sound of the knife on the cutting board abruptly stopping.

Kisuke nibbles at his neck. "I can't help it. You smell good." And he follows up with a slow slide of his tongue across all that delightful skin.

Lifting his shoulders, Ichigo tries briefly for some space. Only to submit to the embrace with a sigh that mixes irritation and resignation.

"That's the curry," he corrects.

"Curry?" Kisuke brightens and peeks over his shoulder at the array of items already chopped or in the process of being so. "I could help," he suggests, already reaching for a stalk of celery.

Until the flat of the knife smacks him across the top of the wrist and he catches sight of a single brown eye narrowed in warning. "Don't touch anything. You're not cooking."

Kisuke can't help but chuckle, his other hand sliding down the planes of an apron to rub his palm across Ichigo's groin. "Oh, you're my good little housewife," he coos, knowing it will only aggravate his lover further. "I just love when you do this. So cute, so domestic."

True to form, the Vizard calmly directs an elbow back towards Kisuke. Who having anticipated such an attack, deftly twists out of reach.

"Say that again and see what happens," Ichigo says with a growl, one eye peering at him in warning. His stirring spoon waves menacingly.

Kisuke laughs, holding up his hands as he backs away. "You're holding a spoon, my dear. I just call them as I see them."

He chuckles again and dodges when that spoon whips through the air, whistling through the place where he'd just been. Kisuke dances out of the strike zone and watches with thinly veiled amusement as Ichigo turns back towards his task. Grumbling under his breath but not terribly irritated.

"It's better than eating that poison that you call food," Ichigo huffs, lifting the cutting board to scrape the sliced vegetables into a pan for stewing.

Kisuke peers over his shoulder again, pressing close but not yet touching. "Mah, you wound me, Ichigo. And after all the effort I went through to try. I slaved over a hot stove for you, and this is how you repay me? With insults and threats of bodily harm? You're veins flow with nothing but ice."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, too used to Kisuke's antics by this point. And the blond thinks for a moment that he doesn't mind things the way they are now – Aizen's presence aside. He could get used to a life like this, as peaceful as it feels. He could get used to this man in the kitchen and in his bed. To waking up wrapped around him and the taste of Ichigo on his lips.

But as with all things, Aizen ruins the moment. And there is a mild creak in the background, and Kisuke freezes as the sensation of being watched creeps up his spine. He turns to see his most hated enemy in the doorway, gaze on the both of them and unreadable as always. Those dark eyes dart between both Kisuke and Ichigo as Aizen regally shakes his head like a king vaguely amused by his court jester.

"So domestic," Aizen mutters under his breath, seemingly oblivious to the look of utter death that Kisuke gives him.

And then, he's gone. Sneaking down the hallway of the house like some unsightly and unwanted pet, leaving Kisuke and Ichigo to their business. Fucking creepy is what that is, and Kisuke's eyes narrow. He wants nothing more than to be rid of this nuisance, but Ichigo won't allow it. Not yet.

And the shopkeeper despises that there's nothing he can do about it. He hates that he's almost forgotten that Aizen is in the house with them. The former overlord has taken to skulking about, hiding in his room whenever possible, until Kisuke returns from his trips out to find him ingratiating himself to Ichigo. That pisses the blond off even more, though he'd like to think he hides it well.

Kisuke doesn't like the amount of time that Ichigo spends with that traitor, but he also knows there's nothing he can do or say about it. Their last conversation pretty much confirmed it. Otherwise, he would just be angering Ichigo, and Kisuke doesn't want to alienate him.

He knows good and well that in his absence, Ichigo has no one else to talk to but Aizen. And that Ichigo is struggling to come to some sort of decision, which pretty much requires talking to the man. Still, Kisuke can't help but worry. He knows how sly Aizen's tongue can be, how manipulative. He just doesn't want Ichigo to fall under that bastard's spell like so many others before him.

"Any luck?"

Kisuke blinks out of his thoughts and realizes that he's been glaring in the direction of the open doorway like a fool. "With what, my dear?" he asks with fake brightness, directing his attention back to Ichigo.

It seems his lover missed Aizen's muttered comment.

Busy preparing the meal, it takes a moment for Ichigo to answer. "Hearing from Tessai-san? From my family?"

Shaking his head, Kisuke turns to poke his head into the fridge, looking for something to drink. And a trickle of water works its way from his hair, reminding him that he hasn't dried properly.

"I'll check again today," he says, frowning at the empty shelves as a blast of cold air strikes him full in the face. "After I hit the grocery store," he concedes at the sheer nothingness inside their fridge.

He keeps forgetting how much three adults can eat. Even if Aizen doesn't really seem to consume all that much. Partially due to the menu choice and partially an artifact of his loss of power, something that still makes Kisuke grin with ill-hidden glee. Aizen's been reduced to the level of a Rukongai resident, needing only enough to keep his gigai going and nothing more. A powerless wretch. Not even enough reiatsu to light a candle or the torches outside each division building. Completely and utterly helpless. Useless.

Not that Kisuke has ever had much use for him before. Even when he was a captain and Aizen still a lieutenant. Always hovering in Shinji's shadow. Forever following him and Shunsui around. At all of their gatherings but never a part of them. Forever sitting in the corner reading while the other captains and vice-captains drank and swapped stories. Even Ukitake and Unohana, the pictures of abstinence, imbibed more than Aizen. Even Rose, new to the group and so very quiet at first, fit in better. Aizen was always the odd one out. There but never really invited. Not wanted by anyone other than Shunsui and Ukitake. Kisuke supposes that he shouldn't be surprised that Aizen lingers now. It's always been his modus operandi. Lurking at the edge of their group and refusing to leave. The unwanted houseguest who just can't take a hint.

It's only by Ichigo's grace that he's even still here. That Kisuke hasn't left him dead in a back alley somewhere or had him hauled back to Seireitei. Hasn't poisoned him or drowned him in the bath or smothered him in his sleep or used the hundred other ways he knows how to kill a man without leaving a trace or stray mark.

Only Ichigo keeps that from happening, and Kisuke's pretty sure that he can wear him down. That he can convince his lover to give Aizen the heave-ho and allow them to get back to their peaceful existence, to just get the house to themselves. They've still got plenty of rooms to christen in any case, plenty of flat surfaces that will look wonderful with Ichigo spread across them.

And that happy thought is still in his mind as he steps away from the fridge and allows the door to close. Still there as he once more comes up behind Ichigo and puts a head on his shoulder and wraps arms around his front. But Ichigo doesn't chase him away this time. The Vizard just gives the curry one final stir before putting the lid on the pot and turning the heat down to a simmer. He leans back into Kisuke's embrace with an easy sigh and settles his hands on top of the blond's own, both sets resting on his waist.

Kisuke isn't certain how long they stand there like that. Pressed together with no need for words, with utter harmony and understanding. He doesn't know how long it lasts. But it is only when the timer rings and the grumbles of his stomach become deafening that he reluctantly lets go.

\- - -

It's gotten colder, winter attacking with a ferocity Kisuke would not have expected. Autumn has just barely ended, and already, Kisuke can smell snow on the air. He burrows deeper into his thick coat, moving his groceries from one hip to the other. He has one more stop to make before he returns to the house, never willing to be gone for long since he doesn't trust Aizen any further than Yoruichi in cat form can throw him.

The door jingles as Kisuke steps into the post office, and he nods briefly at the girl behind the counter before heading for the box that he's always held in case of emergencies. He owns different boxes in various areas of the country and the world, all under different assumed names. One never knows when he might have to flee and hide. A part of Kisuke wishes he had never learned to be so cautious.

Most are known to Shinji's gang and have been used by them at one time or another for various reasons. Some to keep them off the radar during the last century or so. Some to conceal items best not found by the Shinigami or anyone else. Others just because Lisa, Love, and Mashiro like pretending to be spies.

Keys rattling, Kisuke stoops to open the box and sighs when a tumble of letters immediately falls to the floor, scattering at least six or seven envelopes. For days, he's opened the box to absolutely nothing, so of course, it would all arrive at once and be all but stuffed inside to explode outwards when unlocked.

But he can't help his smile when he bends down and his eyes catch sight of several familiar names – Kurosaki being the most prominent. Most importantly, however, is the one he spies from Tessai. And fortunately, a familiar and messy scrawl that denotes Shinji's correspondence.

What a lucky day.

Scooping up the letters and dumping them into the top of his grocery bag, Kisuke locks the box again and rises to his feet. Time to head home – or whatever he's calling their hidden abode for the time being. He has to admit that the prospect of making it a home keeps rising to the back of his mind. Of making it his and Ichigo's permanent refuge. Of spending the next years and decades there with nothing but each other.

They're close enough to Karakura to sneak in a few visitors when things have finally calmed down, for Ichigo's sisters to visit or for him to meet them somewhere else in disguise. And since they're still in Japan, it will be fairly easy to obtain Ichigo's records and alter them enough to allow him to attend a different university. He could go back to med school if he wants, though he'll undoubtedly have to repeat the years he's already taken. And it'd be simple for him to eventually set up his own clinic like his father or get a job at one of Ishida senior's nearby hospitals. It would also be easy for Kisuke himself to start up another shop, but something different this time. Perhaps a bookstore or a coffee shop.

They could make a life here. Hidden in plain sight. Far enough from his friends and family to not be suspected but near enough to have contact. They _can_ have a life here. Together.

If only Kisuke can be rid of the nuisance that is Aizen.

The blond juggles his grocery bag with his concentration as he sifts out the letter from Shinji, not wishing for Ichigo to see it just yet. His lover hasn't made his decision after all, and Kisuke doesn't want to push him into it. Whether Ichigo decides to abandon Aizen or join the former overlord's lofty ambitions, Kisuke will be ready for it. Though he stringently hopes for the former choice. For the option to stay in their sleepy and quiet neighborhood and simply live in peace.

Shinji's letter begins with an overly energetic greeting before asking Kisuke if his last message was a joke. He's not surprised, considering that he'd informed Shinji of the most recent events – namely Aizen's return and Ichigo's imprisonment and subsequent escape. Also, their unique living situation. Only Shinji could possibly understand the level of the blond's loathing for Aizen. Only Shinji could possibly hate him more.

Shaking his head, the former captain scans the rest of the letter, smiling to himself. Of course, Shinji is willing to help Ichigo! And of course, he's ready to meet Aizen face-to-face once more. Kisuke can't help but detect an evil lilt in his friend's words, one that doesn't promise a happy reunion for Aizen. It makes the blond smirk to himself in anticipation. How he loves to see Aizen humbled and humiliated.

He folds the paper and shoves it back into the envelope for further perusal later. The small, two-bedroom house is already coming into sight, looking normal for all that it hides their reiatsu. Well, Kisuke's and Ichigo's anyway, considering Aizen has none to speak of. And yes, there's a smug part of him that enjoys that little fact.

Climbing the two steps to the small porch, Kisuke digs out his keys and pushes them into the lock, opening the front door with an impressive juggle of groceries. Stepping inside, he slips out of his shoes and closes it behind him, listening for the sound of the other occupants. He doesn't search long, immediately spotting both Ichigo and Aizen in the main room, perched around a low table.

"Honey, I'm home!" Kisuke calls out with fake cheer as has become his habit. To annoy Aizen and to watch that cute flush spread across Ichigo's cheeks. It's a win-win situation.

Irritation, however, perks inside of him as he moves closer, wondering what in the hell they are doing so near to one another. His eyes fall on the table, and the game board set between them. Not just any either. But _Kisuke's_ Go board. One he has been planning to drag out of hiding and use to teach Ichigo himself.

There is an irrational surge of emotion cresting within the shopkeeper then. But he fights it down, clinging to composure.

"Keeping yourself occupied, I see," he comments lightly, bags now heavy in one hand. "I didn't know you played, Ichigo."

And he swears to whichever deities are listening that there's a smug gleam in Aizen's eyes. Aizen who happens to be sitting on the white side of the board with Ichigo at the black. How very appropriate.

"I don't," Ichigo answers with a faint shrug, contemplating the game intently. "Aizen's been teaching me."

"Has he now?" Kisuke curses himself for being unable to hide the disappointed note in his voice. And he knows he hasn't because Ichigo looks up at him, and Aizen seems far too smug.

Ichigo places a single black chip on the board and rises to his feet. "Yeah," he says and presses a kiss to the corner of Kisuke's mouth before peering into one of the bags. "Please tell me you have something other than pasta in here."

Kisuke grins and steals his own kiss. This one longer and with a subtle swipe of tongue before pulling back. He purposefully refuses to look at Aizen.

"Even better." He shifts the weight of the bag, reaching in and withdrawing two envelopes. "These are for you."

Kisuke admits if only to himself that the sight of Ichigo's brightening expression, a smile breaking through the cloudy depression, is enough to make his heart skip several beats. He watches as Ichigo tears into the first letter, shoulders sagging in obvious relief when he recognizes the delicate print as belonging to his younger sisters. He sinks to the couch behind him as he reads, and the blond can hardly contain his grin as he watches Ichigo's fingers spasm and then tighten around the pages. He's still reading when Kisuke comes back from depositing his burden in the kitchen.

But Aizen is nowhere to be found. Having disappeared like mist hit by sunlight. Undoubtedly gone back to skulk in his bedroom now that Kisuke has returned and Ichigo is otherwise occupied. More interested in his letter than the game still set out on the table.

Small favors, Kisuke supposes. At least, he won't have to bodily throw Aizen out this way.

The ex-captain contents himself with settling on the sofa next to Ichigo and watching him begin to read the letter anew. And it is only after he has gone through it twice more that his lover speaks again.

"Karin says that they're fine. Really fine. That the Shinigami came to look through the house while dad was out making a house call but that Toushirou was with them." Ichigo sets the pages in his lap, gazing down at the purple ink. "He kept them from doing anything more than that when it was obvious that I wasn't there. Yuzu was at the store and hadn't even known they came by until later."

He takes a deep breath and glances up at the ceiling. His eyes are wide and very bright with moisture, the closest he'll get to the edge and the most he'll allow himself at any rate. Kisuke watches as his hands clench into fists before relaxing slightly, but he merely brings his arm around Ichigo's shoulder and pulls him closer. Knowing that anything else is liable to break Ichigo's control. And as much as he would like his lover to turn to him, the blond knows that it would only embarrass him later. This is different than nightmares and waking up in the dark with both screams and tears. Ichigo is still a man; he still has his pride. Bruised though it might be at times.

The only thing Kisuke can do is give his silent support as the moment stretches out. And finally, sometime indeterminable amount of time later, Ichigo exhales loudly and looks at him with a small smile.

Kisuke impulsively leans forward to kiss him before he can even think the action through, but Ichigo returns the gesture fully. Following up with one of his own. He lingers for a few seconds before pulling back after a parting nip. Ichigo is still smiling when the blond produces several more letters from his pocket, where he'd stuck them when he was putting away the groceries. The only way to insure that they'll stay out of Aizen's greedy reach.

Ichigo scans through the names on the top three. "Inoue and Tatsuki. Ishida. Chad. How on earth did you manage this? Aren't they being watched right now?" There is a flicker of concern to his face that is chased away by his usual scowl.

The blond affects a shrug and casually leans in closer. "They were in the post office box when I checked. It wouldn't be hard for Tessai-san to slip them the address. The Shinigami would think little of writing. It's a fairly common thing. And see?" He questions as he slips Ishida-san's letter from the envelope, noting that it is written with blue ink and is on printer paper. "None of these are on stationary, which meant that the three of them probably pretended to be doing something else at the time. Like taking notes for a class."

Ichigo nods, and there is silence for a moment as they go through the pile. Shinji's is noticeable in its absence, but Ichigo doesn't know that yet. Kisuke just contents himself with pulling free a letter written on familiar yellow and orange stationary, a cat paw on the top corner of each page.

"Who's that one from?" the Vizard questions as he turns over the envelope with Tessai's handwriting on the front.

"From Yoruichi," Kisuke tells him as he glances through, only to abruptly pause and reread. "Apparently, Chamber 46 hauled her in for questioning about your disappearance. The rest of the Shihouin are up in arms over their treatment of her. The Kuchiki don't seem to be far behind them, though I suppose that is mostly Kuchiki-taichou's doing."

Ichigo gives something that is half-sigh and half-snort. "Yeah, that'd be Byakuya for you. Never doing anything outright. But helping behind the scenes." His tone is exasperated but also vaguely fond.

He and Kuchiki Byakuya are not bosom buddies or the best of friends or even as close as Ichigo and Abarai-san were, but they have a distinct understanding. A mutual respect and comprehension that only older brothers with much beloved younger sisters can share. Something beyond allies who have fought and bled together but not quite friends. The word nakama comes to mind, but Kisuke wouldn't dare say that aloud to either of them. Byakuya-bo is too prideful for it, and that word has great significance to Ichigo. Outside of his inner circle, there are only three living people Ichigo calls that now, and the blond doesn't recall him referring to Ukitake by anything other than his name in the last few weeks. That only leaves Kisuke himself, who has held that title since the battle where Abarai fell and he thought Ichigo would soon follow, and Hitsugaya Toushirou. And Kisuke suspects – and Isshin has all but confirmed it – that if Hitsugaya and Karin have their way, Ichigo will be calling the youngest captain something else entirely in the future.

"What else does she say?" Ichigo asks then, abruptly drawing the shopkeeper's attention back to the here and now.

He scans through a bit further. "Just that there are several people questioning your abrupt sentencing and disappearance." His eyes scan over the names listed. "Kasumioji-sama and her advisors. Both Hitsugaya and Zaraki along with a good portion of the tenth and eleventh divisions." And well they should since Ichigo had personally fought alongside both groups. "A few of the lieutenants. Kira and Hisagi and Iba. Even Komamura and Unohana-taichou seem conflicted."

There is a subtle tightening of Ichigo's eyes at the last name listed. And Kisuke once more wonders who exactly freed Ichigo from his cell. He hasn't asked, waiting for his lover to disclose the information first. But perhaps it is safer for all parties involved if he doesn't.

It gives them more room to maneuver should the unthinkable happen. But Kisuke doesn't even want to contemplate that eventuality. The thought that he and Ichigo might be separated. That Soul Society, policed and peopled by those who couldn't even find their own asses with both hands and a tracking kidoh, could discover them. Soifon might have been able to do it, and Yoruichi surely could. But the first is dead and the second would see herself as such before she ever betrayed them.

That still doesn't discount the possibility, however small it may be.

Kisuke and Ichigo need to keep their options open for such an eventuality. And what he doesn't know, he can't betray. Even if unintentionally. The only way he would ever do that to the man beside him.

After all, he willingly went into exile for Shinji and the others. For people who were his friends and fellow captains and vice-captains but nothing besides that. Ichigo is worth so much more to him. More than worth this second exile and separation from his rebuilt life.

Ichigo would kill for him. Would die for him. He nearly has before. How can Kisuke do anything less but return the favor?


	18. Reciprocation

Wandering around the house in an endless loop has proven to be incredibly boring for Ichigo. Nevertheless, he completes another circuit, staring into each open doorway as if a brand new adventure waits beyond. He's so incredibly bored that it feels like something is churning inside of him desperate to be loosed. Or maybe that's just Shirosaki. It's so damn frustrating.

He supposes he could be taking the time to sit and think about the things that are expected of him. The decision that Kisuke and Aizen want him to make. What he plans to do about Soul Society. His future. Everything hinges on Ichigo, and he hates that. He hates it more than anything. And Ichigo longs for his peaceful – even if a little fake – life of before. He even misses his damn classes.

Biting back a sigh, Ichigo wanders down the hallway. Past Aizen's closed door and Ichigo's equally empty bedroom. Past the unoccupied bathroom and a small closet. He pauses mid-step, considering.

Where's Kisuke? He knows that the ex-captain hasn't left because he never does so without telling Ichigo just in case. And Kisuke isn't in the main rooms either.

Frowning, Ichigo focuses on the back door. One that leads out to a small porch and an equally tiny yard. Ichigo's walked the length of it before, though it's mostly overgrown and in vast need of care. He's considered doing so once or twice just to pass the time but wasn't sure how far Kisuke's barriers extended. It occurs to Ichigo that he should probably ask.

He steps up to the screen door and peers through the translucent glass. Spying a figure perched on the back steps, his back to the door. Kisuke's usual hat and haori are missing, leaving him only in his pants and shirt. Brow furrowing, Ichigo lets a tendril of reiatsu slip free as he tries to sense Kisuke without the other man noticing.

It's not so much that he enjoys being sneaky, but Ichigo knows his teacher very well. Kisuke hoards secrets like someone else hoards money, and he thrives on being mysterious. No doubt he enjoys being the strong and confident one, unwilling to allow Ichigo to see his weaknesses. Even if his former student already knows what they are.

A cutting mix of sorrow and regret wafts out from Kisuke's direction. Ichigo's lover is staring off into space, a piece of paper in one hand but dangling loosely. Ichigo can't see any words on it, but he feels like he recognizes the design. Kisuke's posture is practically screaming for him to go away, but Ichigo isn't the sort to leave him sitting out there alone.

Pulling open the door doesn't garner a reaction. And the blond doesn't even appear to notice Ichigo's presence despite the fact that his instincts are usually far more aware than this.

"Kisuke?"

The shopkeeper startles like a kid caught in the act, and the paper flutters from his grip. Ichigo has a brief chance to spot the signature – _Yoru-chan_ – before Kisuke snatches the letter up and folds it properly, shoving it into his pocket.

"Ichigo!" he says, whirling to look back and up. "I didn't realize you were there."

One brow arches. "Obviously," the younger man comments and gestures vaguely to the now hidden letter. "Not bad news, I hope."

Kisuke shakes his head, looking strangely young and vulnerable. "No, just news from Seireitei."

"And how is that not bad?" Ichigo counters as he steps closer.

"Good point." Kisuke smiles, but it's cracked and far from his usual, confident smirk. "As usual, the Shinigami are less about intelligent and organized behavior and more about pointing the finger. They've no clue where you've gone. Or me for that matter. In fact, they can't even agree on whether or not Aizen is still alive."

Ichigo really wishes he was surprised, but he's not. He's never credited the Shinigami – as a group rather than singularly – with having much brainpower. In fact, they're usually more suited to standing around with their thumbs up their asses rather than _doing_ anything. Like say, preventing one of their own from becoming a homicidal megalomaniac.

"I suppose that's good luck on our part then," Ichigo comments. Desperate to keep the conversation going despite the somewhat _uneasy_ atmosphere that lingers between them like a bad smell.

Kisuke hates that his weakness has been spied so easily, but he's also unwilling to push Ichigo away. And Ichigo's not so much of a saint that he'll walk away and let his lover wallow in his own misery. After all, Kisuke's the one that keeps insisting that Ichigo _talk_ and _share_ about all the things that give him nightmares and haunt his waking dreams. It's high time that he returns the favor.

"For now," Kisuke agrees and falls back into a contemplative silence, hand lingering over his pocket protectively.

Ichigo twists his jaw before moving forward and lowering himself next to Kisuke, close enough that their thighs nearly touch. "The barrier extends this far?" he asks, content to let the subject shift.

For the moment.

"What?"

"You know…" Ichigo gestures vaguely to the house and its surroundings. "The thing that makes this place appear empty to the Shinigami and everyone else."

"Oh." Kisuke laughs softly, head ducking as though missing the concealment his hat offers. "Yes, it surrounds the whole perimeter. Makes the backyard look like it's overgrown by weeds."

Ichigo blinks. "It _is_ overgrown by weeds," he points out.

Kisuke lifts his eyes as though seeing the yard for the first time. "Ah, so it is," he agrees.

Ichigo watches as the wind tugs at loose blond hair, but Kisuke falls into silence again. This close, it's much easier to sense the distress in his reiatsu. He probably doesn't even realize that it's there or that Ichigo is strong enough to sense it. Everyone seems to make a habit of underestimating him, and Kisuke is no exception.

Ichigo shifts to the side, leaning against his lover as if to share his warmth, the edges of their tightly confined reiatsu brushing together. Sadness and regret and indecision and guilt all swim together in disquieting torrents. Ichigo has no idea what is on Kisuke's mind. But whatever it is, it's troubling him. No doubt Yoruichi has something to do with it.

"Tired?"

The question is pointed but not from him.

Ichigo snorts. "Not quite. I'm too bored to be tired."

Which is the utter truth. He sleeps because he has nothing better to do, and that boredom causes a lethargy that Ichigo can't quite shake.

His head rests on Kisuke's shoulder, and he can smell the subtle scents of the soap they're all using. Kisuke doesn't smell much of gunpowder and candy anymore. And it's strange how this new scent seems to go hand in hand with a Kisuke who's less the manipulative and mysterious shopkeeper and more the determined, protective man who has become Ichigo's lover. The same man who spends the rest of his time engaging in childish trades of insult with the other occupant of their house.

"I'm sorry."

Ichigo stills.

"For what?" he demands, straightening and staring at Kisuke. Who's looking back at him with unreadable eyes. "I'll kick your ass if you think I blame you for any of this."

"No, but you must admit that the situation is less than satisfactory."

"I'll survive," Ichigo retorts with a shrug.

Since he was fifteen, that's what Ichigo's been good at: surviving. From the moment Rukia stepped through his bedroom and Ichigo grasped onto a strength he didn't know he had, he's been a survivor. Which is why he should've seen this whole _situation_ coming a long time ago.

Kisuke shakes his head, eyes shifting back to the overgrown yard with its numerous weeds and buzzing insects. "Surviving is not the same thing as living."

"Surviving is what I'm good at."

The former captain sighs. "Ichigo--"

"No." Ichigo's hand lands on Kisuke's arm, squeezing it firmly. "Living is for those people not being hunted by their former allies. Living is for people who don't have a Hollow cackling in their brain. Living is for people who can let go of the past. I'm not one of those people."

And Ichigo is going to get seriously pissed off if Kisuke keeps trying to shove this bullshit at him. Like it's that easy to let go and be normal and move on. Ichigo _tried_ , and this is where it got him. It's like he's trudging through a swamp and the closer he gets to safe, dry ground, the more the sticky slime covers him. Seeping into his skin until it's a stain he'll carry with him wherever he goes.

Kisuke chuckles. But it's dark with echoes of the past.

"Luckily, neither am I."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Kisuke looks at him strangely, as though he can't quite pin down the person that Ichigo is now. He's just as guilty as Aizen in that regard. Insisting that Ichigo is an adult. That he can make his own decisions. But still seeing the teenager who fought in the war. They still treat him gently, carefully, unwilling to push or allow him to learn all the darker truths. Ichigo _knows_ that the both of them are hiding things for one reason or another.

Fuck that. It's Ichigo's turn to push back.

Yeah, he was in a bad place when they first got here. He'd just been betrayed by one of his best friends and locked in a cell. He'd only recently escaped from Soul Society and a terrible fate. And the nightmares had been worse than usual. It'd taken him a while to find solid ground again.

Ichigo leans closer. Until their faces are mere inches apart and Kisuke has no choice but to see nothing but him.

"You know what you'd do if you found me sitting out here looking like this?" Ichigo demands, voice soft but pressing.

A slow, sly grin curves Kisuke's lips. "I can hazard a guess."

Ichigo needs no other invitation. He closes the distance between them, lips moving slowly, sensuously. One hand lifts to card through blond hair and cup the back of Kisuke's head as Ichigo deepens the kiss. His mouth trails a bottom lip gently before a tongue slips out to meet his, warm and insistent. His fingers massage against Kisuke's scalp as pleasant sensations seep into his being.

It's not healing. It's not going to suddenly make things better or alright or completely chase away whatever's haunting them both. But just like it helps Ichigo to forget, he knows it will help Kisuke. And well, it helps that Ichigo will enjoy it just as much.

He drags his lips over Kisuke's stubbled chin. Mouthing the blond's jaw and brings his other hand into play. Settling it on Kisuke's thigh.

"Ichigo?"

At the confused but intrigued note to Kisuke's voice, Ichigo can't help but chuckle softly.

"You sound confused," Ichigo says, his fingers kneading and massaging the hard muscles of Kisuke's thigh as they trek upwards, towards more intimate territory. "What? Can't recognize a seduction when it's being aimed _at_ you rather than the other way around?"

There is a sharp intake of breath. "I'm just pleasantly surprised," Kisuke says, voice rumbling against Ichigo's lips.

"You shouldn't be," Ichigo replies and looses his hold on blond hair. Sliding his hand around to lay flat against Kisuke's chest where he can feel the warmth of the other man through his thin shirt.

Ichigo gives a slight push, strong enough to force Kisuke off balance but not to harm him. His lover tilts, and Ichigo gives him another nudge, sending the shopkeeper sprawling backwards. Ichigo takes Kisuke's moment of surprise to his advantage and perches over the older man with devilish intent gleaming in his eyes.

"There. That's better," Ichigo says, nudging one knee forward until he presses against Kisuke's groin. Feeling a half-hard length answering back.

Kisuke looks at him. Eyes darkening with arousal. Pale hair fanned out beneath him and doing little to hide his expression.

"I think I like you like this," he murmurs, hands settling on Ichigo's hips only to slide upwards.

"Did you think I would stay passive forever?" Ichigo demands and lowers his head to nip at Kisuke's ear, enjoying the sound of another sharp intake of breath.

"Well…"

"You pervert." Ichigo tugs on Kisuke's ear with his teeth. He lowers down to his left elbow, shifting his weight and freeing his right hand. "You would've enjoyed that. Wouldn't you?"

"Only a little," Kisuke admits, and a gasp escapes from his lips as Ichigo smoothes a palm over his clothed arousal. "Though I'm enjoying this, too."

Ichigo's answer to that is to kiss him again. Their tongues sloppily connecting, the kiss open-mouthed and hungry. A slow burn builds in his belly, loving the feel of Kisuke pinned beneath him, subject to his whims. He digs the heel of his palm against a hard length, and the blond's hips rise to meet each press of his hand. Kisuke's hands are no less busy, sliding up under his shirt until they press hotly against Ichigo's bare skin. Fingernails scrape carefully over his abdomen.

A low hum of pleasure echoing in his throat, Ichigo plucks at the ties to Kisuke's pants. Loosening them enough that his fingers can dive inside. Unsurprisingly, his lover isn't wearing underwear, and his hand wraps around hot flesh already so familiar to him.

Kisuke breaks off their kiss with a startled gasp.

"You said no one could see us," Ichigo reminds him smugly, lowering his lips to mouth a pale throat where he knows the older man to be particular sensitive. His fingers stroke Kisuke's arousal as he rolls his hips.

His lover hisses and groans both. "Yesssss… But…"

"What?" Ichigo grins, nipping at Kisuke's stubbled chin. "Are you telling me you're too _reserved_ to make out with me on the back porch?"

As though just the thought is enough to make Kisuke hot, he shivers. A flush darkens his face.

"I don't think making out is all you have in mind," Kisuke retorts, one hand snaking around Ichigo's back and dragging him closer.

"You know me so well," Ichigo responds and kisses him again, forcing their mouths to seal.

He looses his hold on the other man and rolls his hips, grinding their groins together. Ichigo tugs at the small tie on Kisuke's shirt, baring his chest and abdomen to the air. A muscled stomach greets his eyes, and Ichigo teasingly drags fingers down the flat expanse. He watches as Kisuke's muscles tense in response, and Ichigo lowers his lips, breathing hotly before running his tongue over hard expanse. The blond shivers, and Ichigo grins against his bare skin, desire growing and swelling inside of him. Kisuke really is an attractive man. More than he gives himself credit.

Ichigo hooks a finger in his lover's pants and tugs them further down. Baring the faint curve of his hips and the sharp jut of his hipbones, which instantly call to Ichigo's mouth. He runs his tongue over them and feels Kisuke's hips jerk before falling back into place, obviously restraining himself for Ichigo's sake. The younger man shifts his weight back to his knees, freeing up his other hand.

Eyes narrowing, Ichigo nips at the hipbone. "You know," he says so very casually. His fingers tickle up Kisuke's side before his palm smooths over pink nipples. "I'm neither shy nor inexperienced. You don't have to be careful with me."

He follows up his statement by breathing hotly over Kisuke's jutting length, rosy with need, and drags his fingers over the rigid shaft. A muffled noise emerges from the blond's mouth before he clamps his lips shut, eyes bright with need.

"I never took you for a tease," Kisuke mutters with serious strain in his voice. It's obvious he's holding back.

And that more than anything annoys Ichigo.

"Then it's obvious you have a lot to learn."

Ichigo promptly closes his lips around a swollen head, immeasurably satisfied when that results in an aborted shout. A hand tangles in his hair, fingers gripping and tugging but without pain. He can hear Kisuke pant, and the thought of being the cause makes him hot all over. He can feel his own arousal straining within the confines of his pants, dampening the fabric of his boxers.

Ichigo flicks his tongue over the rigid shaft and savors each sound that he manages to wring free. Every pant and barely concealed moan. Kisuke's hot like this, less restrained, less mysterious. And Ichigo can't deny that it arouses him more than anything. He's no longer thinking of this as just comfort. It's staring to ring of a little something else, something _more_.

He gives one lingering swipe of his tongue before pulling away and shifting back upwards.

"You're still holding back," Ichigo comments, pausing to swipe a tongue over a nipple before continuing his trek towards a bare throat.

A palm settles on his groin, relentlessly kneading him.

"Says who?" Kisuke breathes before his other hand helps to free Ichigo's straining arousal.

"Says me," Ichigo counters, sealing his lips over the blond's mouth and engaging him in a deep, tongue-dueling kiss.

There's something immensely satisfying in kissing Kisuke. Sometimes, the shopkeeper relents and lets Ichigo take the lead. Sometimes, he dares aggression, and it's a battle to see who emerges victorious. And sometimes, they kiss slow and languorous. Almost gentle.

This is one of those times.

Pleasure dances down Ichigo's spine the minute Kisuke's fingers wrap around him, stroking skillfully. He lets himself indulge in the arousing sensation for several long moments. But he had no intention of allowing Kisuke to think he's turned the tides in his favor. And his lips wander back to Kisuke's throat, where he scrapes his teeth against pale skin.

"You think all I need is gentleness, don't you?" Ichigo questions, fingers sliding down to capture Kisuke's wrists. He mourns the loss of warm contact, but Ichigo has better things in mind.

"It's not that simple," Kisuke sends back as a tongue traces a wet path into the sensitive hollow of his ear.

Ichigo is pretty sure Kisuke's reluctance has something to do with his unexplained apology. But Ichigo's an adult now, capable of deciding what he wants. Yes, forming this relationship is probably not the best idea right now.

Are they going to hurt each other?

Most likely.

Is Ichigo going to put an end to it?

No way in hell.

"No, you just like to overcomplicate things," Ichigo mutters and pins Kisuke's wrists to the wooden porch with a hold that the shopkeeper would find rather difficult to break.

He's sexy like this. Hair sprawled beneath him, completely subject to Ichigo's whims. He cuts off the blond's likely argument with another deep kiss and shifts until he's where he wants to be. Hips perfectly aligned with another set. Need is building a steady crescendo within him, and he knows Kisuke must be suffering the same.

Ichigo lowers his hips, grinds down, feeling his length rub against Kisuke's in a manner that makes him gasp into their kiss. He nibbles at the ex-captain's lips, feeling Kisuke rise up to meet each careful rock. Their movements become hurried and hungry, less careful rhythm and more desperate desire.

Kisuke's fingers twitch where his hands are pinned, but he doesn't try to break free. His body writhes beneath Ichigo's as fluid slicks their movements, making each rock full of delicious friction. Their kiss is sloppy and wet before Ichigo breaks off to devour Kisuke's throat and forcing his head back. He can hear the blond gasp, feel his muscles bunching as he plants his feet against the ground to thrust up sharply.

Ichigo groans as Kisuke rubs against him. Sending sensations of _lust, want, more_ through his body. He breathes hotly across a warm throat and knows by the increase in pace that Kisuke's gotten close. He can feel his lover undulating beneath him, effecting a rhythm of his own. Ichigo grinds down and drives another gasp of pleasure from so-very-tempting lips.

The blond strains against the wooden decking now, back arching as his hips take on a mind of their own, pushing and rubbing. Ichigo feels himself teetering on the edge, but he holds back. Determined to outlast his lover. He thrusts downwards. Body rolling in a manner that makes him think of one day pushing inside Kisuke, his length surrounded by clenching heat. Ichigo's never been with a man in that manner, but his imagination is enough to fuel his fantasies.

His teeth latch onto Kisuke's throat, tongue flicking across the marked skin, and feels a groan vibrate against his mouth. The blond arches upwards sharply and shudders, spilling between their bodies. The combined slickness makes Ichigo sizzle with need as he lets go and grinds down as the fire in his belly surges out through his veins. Ichigo comes with a muffled moan, creating more of a mess between them.

Limbs weak, he slumps down. Remembering to tilt himself to the side at the last minute before smothering the other man. He hears Kisuke make a sound of contentment in the back of his throat even as Ichigo surrenders to a lazy warmth.

Birds chirping and the faint echoes of a shout – some parent calling for their kid – reminds Ichigo that they are in fact outside and nowhere near a bed. He stirs as Kisuke twitches and draws back, feeling the sticky mess between them.

"I think a shower is in order," he murmurs, raking his eyes over Kisuke's flushed and half-dazed expression.

"I'm not sure I want to move."

Ichigo chuckles, nuzzling into his throat where red marks are just beginning to show. He loosens his hold on Kisuke's wrists, letting the older man finally lower his arms.

"Weren't you the one initially opposed to the exhibitionism?"

"Is it exhibition if no one can see you?" Kisuke asks rhetorically.

"I don't know. You tell me."

The blond grins and turns his head, nipping at Ichigo's ear.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

The Vizard squirms. "For what?" he demands as a warm wind wafts over the both of them, bringing with it the smell of overgrown plants in full sunlight.

"For being you," Kisuke responds.

Then, he abruptly sits up, forcing Ichigo to scramble for balance. Which only makes his lover laugh and smile at him. Eyes bright and a warm grey.

"Now about that shower…"

* * *

That night, Ichigo dreams about his mother. Or what he thinks is his mother. There's only a faint impression of location and face. He sees long flowing hair in an auburn shade. He swears he can hear her voice. He smells something fresh, like tropical flowers. He hears the soft spill of flowing water.

She's smiling at him, Ichigo thinks through the dream haze. And she's holding out a hand, but he's standing too far away. On a platform distant from her. She stands under a corona of light, hand outstretched. And Ichigo hesitates. He's almost afraid. He's uncertain why. Or of what.

" _Ichigo_."

She calls him, and Ichigo still hesitates. He has only a few more platforms, round, solid pieces of stone. Something splashes above the clear water. There's a weight in the air, the tingle of reiatsu.

Old. Timeless. Wise.

" _Ichigo_."

_Ichigo…_

And he wakes up. Staring into an early morning with a warm weight draped across his left side. He can feel Kisuke's breathing against his neck, steady and even. Ichigo blinks and gazes at the ceiling where sunrise has cast slatted beams of light through the blinds. He drags his free hand over his face, trying to make sense of the hazy images still lingering in the forefront of his mind.

His mother.

Usually, when he dreams of her, it's to blood and screams and rain and sorrow. It's normally a nightmare. But this… this was different. The air tasted of expectation, like someone holding their breath in anticipation. Ichigo wasn't struck with real fear or anger but indecision.

He's been dreaming of her a lot lately. Ever since his rescue from Seireitei and the Shinigami. No, before then, too. Just a few scattered ones though. Over the months and years since the war. Flashes of her smile. The fall of her hair as she laughs. Her eyes as she looks at him with love and warmth. No one else has ever looked at him like that before. Not even his sisters. Looked at him like Ichigo is the only thing she sees. The center of her universe. She gazed at all of them like that – he and Karin and Yuzu. But somehow, she always made them feel individually special.

And in some ways, his dreams are worse than the nightmares. Promises of what can never be again. Even if he cherishes each one. Carefully and slowly replacing the memories of death and blood with her voice and light shining on her face.

_Ichigo…_

Pressing the heel of his palm briefly against his eye sockets, he shifts to roll over. With every intention of rising from the bed and its warm prison. Except that Kisuke's hand tightens where it lies innocuously on his hip, and he hears Kisuke's breathing change.

"It's barely morning," Kisuke murmurs against the back of his neck sleepily. "I never took you for an early riser."

Ichigo settles back against him with a snort. "That's because you're the sort that would spend all day lazing in bed."

"How well you know me."

 _And sometimes, not at all_ , Ichigo retorts smartly. But it's only in his own head, and he doesn't understand what's put him in this mood. He feels twitchy. On edge. Wanting to lash out at anyone and anything. Maybe Shirosaki's restlessness is rubbing off on him. Or maybe he's just sick of bullshit.

"Didn't you have to rise early on account of being a captain?" Ichigo inquires.

After all, when better to bombard his lover with questions he might not want to answer than early in the morning? And no, it's not sneaky of him at all.

Kisuke subtly stiffens but doesn't pull away. "One perk of power and position, Ichigo, is that one can make his own schedule."

"Do you miss it?" the younger man asks. And just to prove that he's not being purposefully malicious he covers the hand on his hip with one of his own, fingers stroking the skin within range.

"On occasion," Kisuke answers in a murmur. "It was a very different life, and it's difficult to compare." He pauses, yawning against the back of Ichigo's neck. "But there are also things that I've gained that wouldn't have been possible had I remained in Soul Society."

Ichigo closes his eyes. Even an idiot would be able to read the implication in those words. He can't deny that they strike warmly through him.

"Would you go back?"

But Ichigo considers asking himself the same question. Would he return to school if there was a way to turn back time? Or would he go even further back? Back to before he met Rukia and ever learned the truth?

Lips fall against the back of Ichigo's neck. And Kisuke's fingers press against Ichigo's hip.

"Are you asking whether or not I am amenable to the idea of you breaking into Soul Society with the intention of becoming the next king? Or seeing that you do?"

Ichigo rolls over, forcing himself to face Kisuke and the unreadable look in grey eyes. "Okay, say I'm asking that. What's your answer?"

"I thought you were tired of fighting?"

"That's neither here nor there." He feels his eyes narrow. "If I decided in favor of Aizen, what would you do?"

Kisuke's gaze shifts away. However, he's unable to hide the flash of annoyance and anger.

"Do you honestly think I'd abandon you?"

"Would it kill you to actually answer the fucking question?" Ichigo retorts hotly, hating the uncertainty that strikes through him like a burst of lightning.

What does Kisuke think he's protecting him from? Ichigo doesn't need or want it!

To his credit, Kisuke doesn't flinch at the sharp words.

"No matter what you decide, I'll support you," he says evenly, finally dragging his eyes back to Ichigo. "Though I wonder what I've done to make you think you even had to ask."

The hurt in his tone is unexpected, and Ichigo is forced to fight down rising feelings of guilt.

"I just had to be sure," the Vizard says warily.

And interested in ending the conversation, he cards his fingers through blond hair and drags Kisuke closer for a lazy kiss, morning breath or not. It's no substitution for proper conversation, but it'll do for now. Ichigo has more than enough to think about and plenty of time to mull things over in his mind.

Minutes later, he extracts himself from the bed with surprising ease. Kisuke all too willing to drop back into sleep. Ichigo hunts around for clean clothes and slips into a silent hallway within an equally silent house. If Aizen's anywhere around, Ichigo doesn't immediately see him.

He showers quickly, running shampoo through his hair before stepping out into a room that's barely touched with steam. The mirror is miraculously unclouded, and Ichigo examines his appearance. A touch of stubble has graced his chin and cheeks, so he whisks out a razor and attacks both with skill and precision. The last thing he needs is to be confused with Kisuke. As amusing as that might be.

Ichigo pulls on a pair of jeans and boxers, letting the former sag lowly on his hips. It's too hot in the bathroom for a shirt, so he foregoes one for now. Not to mention he hadn't brought one in with him. He roughly towels his hair before letting the towel drape around his neck to catch those annoying dribbles of water.

A grumble in his belly reminds him that he hasn't eaten in the past twelve hours or so. Scraping a hand over his damp hair, Ichigo turns towards the kitchen. The silence of the house is as unsettling as always, and he feels he should be used to it by now. But Ichigo grew up in a home filled with noise. He's come to expect it.

Aizen's in the kitchen surprisingly. He usually haunts his bedroom or the living room. Ichigo finds him sitting at the table, reading a book and drinking tea that is still hot enough to have curls of steam. Eyebrows lift as Aizen takes in Ichigo's half-dressed state.

"Feeling comfortable, are we?"

Ichigo shrugs, part of him impressed by the fact Aizen's gotten more at ease in his presence. He doesn't restrain himself as tightly as he had in the beginning, which is a good thing. It makes things easier for Ichigo to read his true intentions.

"Laziness," Ichigo corrects.

He digs through the cupboards for something he can pop quickly into the microwave. He doesn't feel like cooking, and he doesn't trust any of the leftovers from Kisuke's latest culinary attempt. His eyes flicker to Aizen then, tilting his head to see the title of the book. It's not in Japanese but some other language that Ichigo doesn't recognize. Similar to English but only superficially. Latin perhaps?

"What's that?"

Aizen turns a page and shifts his grip to give his spoon a quick turn through his tea. " _De Re Militari_ ," he answers as Ichigo finally locates some kind of microwavable something. "It is a treatise of Roman warfare."

Ichigo resists the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known.

"I would've expected you to be reading _The Art of War_."

Marking his place with this thumb, Aizen closes the book. "That was required at the Academy. Dry but interesting. I think I'm one of the few who actually read it."

"And put what you read to use, I imagine," Ichigo comments, pulling a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and taking it with him to the table. He sits across from Aizen, shaking the carton pointedly. It is mostly empty, so Ichigo feels no need to acquire a glass. He is going to drink the rest.

A smile curves Aizen's lips. "Some of it perhaps," he concedes and gestures towards Ichigo with this book. "Though I find this one to be far more useful. You might even recognize some of it."

"Oh?" Ichigo arches one brow. "How so?"

Sitting back in his chair, Aizen meets Ichigo's stare evenly, answering in a tone that is clearly recitation. "It is better to beat the enemy through want, surprise, and care for difficult places than by battle in the open field."

Ichigo shakes his head. "What? Did you snag your entire battle plan from books?"

"There is much to be gained from literature, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen says with a smile. "Though as a Shakespeare aficionado, I'm sure you already knew that."

The microwave dings, announcing the completion of Ichigo's meal. He rises to retrieve it as the scent of cooked noodles and vegetables fills the kitchen. He grabs a pack of chopsticks and stirs the once-frozen dinner.

He decides now, more or less, is the perfect time to see what kind of answers he can get from Aizen. Especially since Kisuke is asleep and less likely to interfere by baiting his nemesis into some kind of altercation. Yet again.

"So," Ichigo begins, dropping his meal onto the table and plopping down into his seat "Tell me again what made you decide on that particular course of action."

Aizen blinks. "And you are referring to…?"

Waving one hand in the air, Ichigo prods at his noodles. "Well, rather than working to take a position of influence, you decided to try and become god on your own. Was that your first and only plan?" he questions and selects a steaming piece of onion. "Or didn't you think it was possible for you to try another method? Like maybe aiming for the old geezer's position?" He pops the bulb into his mouth and stares.

Aizen, for his part, gazes back in shock. "That's… a surprisingly insightful question, Kurosaki-kun."

In other words, he hadn't realized Ichigo could think on that level. Yet again, another example of how much Aizen and Urahara underestimate him. Not to mention just about everybody else. Gods be damned, he's not a complete idiot! He graduated from high school and college reasonably close to the top of his class for both. Not bad considering how much he missed fighting in the war. And that doesn't even mention the fact that he got into medical school and was near to the top in that, too. Obviously, he has something going on upstairs, but nobody ever seems to consider that.

Shrugging since its better than banging his head on the table, Ichigo pretends to focus on his meal. "Yeah, and that wasn't an answer." He squares his shoulders after a minute. "Well?"

Aizen sighs and puts down his book for good but not before placing a napkin between the pages to hold his place. He studies Ichigo for a long moment. Eyes brown but fathomless behind his glasses.

"Yamamoto, as you well know, would die before surrendering his post," he begins. "And it is not so easy to become a member of Chamber 46."

Ichigo shakes his head a second time in so many minutes. "And you're telling me you didn't once consider just getting rid of him?" he questions as casually as he possibly can, though the idea of planned assassination makes his gut churn.

Again, he is treated to one of those disbelieving stares.

"I mean, your zanpakutou was tricky shit," Ichigo continues around a mouthful of noodles. Fuck manners; he doesn't care what Aizen thinks of him. "And obviously your kidoh was nothing to sneeze at. You couldn't have made it look like an accident? Or old age? The guy was practically a dinosaur."

A hint of a smile curves Aizen's lips, bemusement making his eyes gleam. "Perhaps. But Yamamoto was in charge for over two millennia. As I was, I don't believe I had the capabilities to defeat or incapacitate him. At least, not quietly. And not without someone catching on. His fukutaichou. Another taichou. Someone from the fourth division. And I certainly couldn't have made the loss of so many appear incidental."

He snorts at Aizen's delicate manner of speaking. Guy has no problem skewering his own subordinates, but he talks about assassination like it's a simple career change for those involved.

"And Chamber 46?" Ichigo prompts a few seconds later.

"As I said," Aizen repeats, "it is an organization not too easily joined."

Evasive. As always. Ichigo doesn't know why he bothers. He can't hide his frown and takes a large swig of orange juice to conceal his annoyance.

"So you just decided to go to war?"

"It wasn't so simple," Aizen replies slowly, amusement replaced by thoughtfulness. "I weighed my options, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo tilts his head to the side. "And the end justifies the means, ne?" he poses, stirring his noodles a bit more. "Though I doubt Renji or Soifon would agree with your statement."

To his credit, Aizen doesn't flinch. Maybe because the names Ichigo threw in his face are more painful to him than they are Aizen. Maybe if Ichigo says someone like Ichimaru or Ulquiorra or even Shunsui, he'll be able to get a rise. But he's not that sadistic. He wants his answers, but he hasn't reached the point of trying almost anything to get them.

 _Yet_.

"I admit… _miscalculations_ were made," Aizen says carefully, face tilting to hide his eyes behind his glasses. "That is why I hope for things to proceed better this time."

Ichigo lays his chopsticks down on the empty plastic carton. He just looks at the man across from him for a heartbeat.

"How?" He leans forward, folding his arms across the table and ignoring the chill that shoots down his spine. "Just how do you think you're going to get into Soul Society and attempt to place someone on this so-called empty throne?"

"Very, very carefully," Aizen answers.

And Ichigo can't tell if he's joking or serious. All he knows is that the answer frustrates him.

His eyes narrow. "What do you want from me then?"

It's not like he can tell anymore. It's obvious that Aizen wants his help, but Ichigo thinks it's more than that. Aizen's hiding things that could probably help his case, but he won't speak of them. Why? Because they might change the way Ichigo looks at him? Because he doesn't want anyone to think of him as less than perfect? As weak or somehow not in control?

"It's more than just my help, isn't it?" Ichigo insists, watching him closely.

Emotions flutter across Aizen's usually careful mask as he debates between one answer and another. Fingers tap his book cover almost nervously. It takes several frustrating moments before his gaze meets Ichigo's completely, refusing to so much as glance away.

"I want you to look at me," he says finally.

Softly. Carefully. As though each word has been specifically chosen.

Ichigo blinks, brow furrowing. Since that makes exactly zero sense. Like Renji and Ikkaku after an all night bender with Matsumoto in tow and those horrible songs they tried to sing. A string of words with no logic to them.

"I am looking at you," Ichigo informs since he obviously can't figure that one out on his own.

Shaking his head, Aizen rises to his feet with a soft sigh. "Yes, Kurosaki-kun, you are. But do you actually see me?" he asks, and tipping his head Ichigo's direction, he turns to leave the room.

He passes Kisuke on the way out, and the two trade glares before Aizen is gone. Leaving Ichigo to stare after him in confusion.

Kisuke wanders in, half-dazed and fighting off a yawn. He spies Ichigo immediately. And seemingly not noticing the irritated vibes wafting off the Vizard, he plops down in the chair on Ichigo's left side. The older man slumps against him, a warm and pliant presence.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing important," Ichigo grumbles and lifts his shoulder pointedly. "If you're going back to sleep, go back to the room."

Blond hair tickles the underside of Ichigo's chin. "But you're much more comfortable," Kisuke murmurs, fingers walking up Ichigo's thigh before squeezing his knee. "And warmer, I might add."

Ichigo snorts. "You're just annoyed that I was talking to Aizen."

"I prefer the term _wary_."

"Why? It's not like he's a danger. The worst he can do to me is give me a paper cut. A stern talking to. In case you'd forgotten."

Kisuke straightens and meets Ichigo's gaze without a trace of his former sleepiness. "Not physically, no. But you and I both know his manipulations weren't destroyed with Kyouka Suigetsu. He's every bit as dangerous now as he was then."

"And you seem to think that I'm stupid enough to fall for it," Ichigo mutters.

He slides out from beside the shopkeeper and snagging his empty cartons. But a hand whips out, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist.

"That's not what I meant, my dear," Kisuke says softly, and a finger strokes across Ichigo's skin. "I simply don't think we should trust him so easily. Or at all. With anything. Much less with you or me."

Ichigo slips out of the grip easily. Annoyance makes his motions sharp as he dumps his trash into the bin.

"Nothing about this has been easy," Ichigo retorts, leaning against the sink and staring out through the curtained window with narrowed eyes. "You act like I'm just going to forget the past and trot happily into the future with him. Like I don't remember what he did. Or like I don't care about it at all."

There's a pause then.

"Can't I be worried?" Kisuke finally asks him.

"Can't you have a little faith in me?" Ichigo counters.

He hears Kisuke sigh before rising to his feet. "Faith in you has never been a problem, Ichigo. Sometimes, I wondered if perhaps I have _too much_ faith in you."

Ichigo scowls and turns to face him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He can't quite interpret the guarded look in the ex-captain's eyes. Regret? Ichigo isn't sure.

Kisuke shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Nothing but the mutterings of a foolish old man." He offers Ichigo a half-hearted smile.

"You're hardly old," Ichigo scoffs but is unable to shake the feeling he's missing something important here. Missing more secrets.

Why is he surprised? Sneaky should've been Kisuke's middle name. Much less Aizen's.

"Older than you," Kisuke shoots back. But there's a playful edge to his tone, a pleading look to his eyes.

" _Drop the subject_ ," they seem to say.

However, Ichigo's too pissed off to ignore that request. He doesn't really want to discuss it anymore anyway. He'll try to corner Kisuke again later, but for now, he'll let it go.

Just for now.


	19. Fascination

Dinner that night is a trying affair. Sousuke pushes his food around his plate, refusing to watch as Urahara makes moony eyes at Kurosaki-kun. His mind keeps replaying their exchanges of affection – hardly subtle – that Urahara thoroughly enjoys throwing in Sousuke's face. As though he's after Kurosaki-kun's affection himself and Urahara prides himself in taking it first.

He is such a child at times, and Sousuke hates that he occasionally rises to the bait. And yes, it might have just been juvenile of him to throw his growing camaraderie with Kurosaki-kun in Urahara's face. The shopkeeper thinks he can restrict the boy with affection, but even Sousuke can see that Kurosaki-kun chafes under those tender bonds. Sousuke doesn't have to do much; Urahara's ruining things all on his own.

He only has to sit back and watch the fireworks.

"Okay, you got the letters," Ichigo says around a mouthful of yakisoba, thankfully not Italian pasta. "What about disguises?"

Urahara looks apologetic, and Sousuke can't help but think that the blond bastard is purposefully delaying the arrival of those to keep the boy here in this house where Urahara can influence him. Sousuke wouldn't put it past him. It's exactly the sort of thing he'd do in Urahara's place. Though admittedly, he be much more subtle and craft about it.

"Still working on that," Urahara finally replies. "I'm not sure it's safe to leave even with a disguise."

"You leave," Ichigo points out, proving his own dissatisfaction with current events. Apparently, not even conversations and the occasional sparring is enough to occupy him.

Tilting his head to the side, Urahara shrugs. "I'm also not wanted for treason. Going into hiding was only a precaution."

Sousuke just watches as they talk back and forth, not attempting to inject himself just yet. Urahara is digging himself into a hole all on his own. He knows nothing of the true value of words, can't twist them properly. And in front of Kurosaki-kun, he tends to lose some of his control. It's so easy to watch him screw things up for himself.

A sound of frustration leaves Kurosaki-kun's lips. "It's been over a month," he says, as though that is a significant amount of time. "Nearly two months. And the most I've been outside is on the porch."

Urahara arches a brow. "Two months is hardly enough time for Soul Society to abandon their pursuit of you. In fact, I'd doubt several _years_ would be enough."

"I know that." Kurosaki-kun rolls his eyes and toys with a glass of water. "But by this point, they shouldn't be looking this close to Karakura. They're probably looking in other countries by now."

"And you're willing to take that chance?" the blond counters, voice rising of its own accord.

"Better that than sitting around here," Kurosaki-kun mutters.

And Sousuke can see it, probably more than Urahara can.

Kurosaki-kun doesn't like fighting, not anymore, but it's also in his blood. It's in his being. He no more likes sitting around and doing nothing than he likes being in this situation in the first place. It frustrates him that he can't do anything more than _wait_.

Sousuke's feels the corners of his lips tilt into a smile. In that, Urahara may be the one pushing Kurosaki-kun to accept Sousuke's plans whether he knows it or not. The more frustrated the young man becomes, the more likely he is to _decide_. And Sousuke has the feeling it won't be to go deeper underground and disappear. That is more Urahara and Shihouin-san's style. Kurosaki-kun prefers to face his problems head on. Or at the very least to counterattack when dealt the first blow. He isn't completely impatient, but Kurosaki-kun favors actions over words.

"On the bright side, we may not have to linger here for long," Urahara comments, a brief glance Sousuke's way before he looks at his young lover again. "At least _one_ of those letters held good news."

"Oh?"

Sousuke can't help himself. He knows Urahara would prefer him to remain on the outside, nose pressed to the glass. But it's never been Sousuke's nature to let others decide his life for him.

"What sort of good news?"

Urahara smirks but focuses on Kurosaki-kun alone. Who in turn perks at this hint to a possible end to his boredom.

"Some key allies who are still on our side," Urahara responds very obliquely and faces his former student. "They may be able to help."

And Sousuke is forced to watch and endure as the two look at each other. Kurosaki-kun's eyes narrow in thought, while Urahara smiles smugly. It's like there is a telepathic conversation between them because Urahara doesn't say anything, but realization seems to wash over the boy's face. He snorts and viciously cuts into the chunk of peppered chicken on his plate.

"I'm not so sure they'd be good news," Kurosaki-kun mutters with the voice of one long-suffering.

Urahara chuckles and digs into his meal with gusto. "You'd be surprised," he shoots back. "You know they've always been quite taken with you."

As is half of Soul Society. However, Sousuke doubts Kurosaki-kun has ever noticed that fact. And he probably thinks even now that he has few allies. But Sousuke knows better. He is certain that there are more on the boy's side than he can ever realize. The moment Sousuke can convince him to return to Soul Society, their support will arrive. He's sure of it.

Kurosaki-kun snorts. "They're a bunch of crazies, and you know it, Kisuke," he retorts, but there's a note of fondness to his tone that hints he is not entirely indisposed to the arrival of these unnamed allies.

Sousuke wonders just whom the two men are talking about. He has his suspicions and has to fight a chill at the mere thought. Still, it's obvious they don't plan on sharing that information. Urahara is going to great pains to be vague, and Kurosaki-kun is following his lead. Or perhaps he simply wishes not to think of them either.

"Maybe," Kisuke agrees with a chuckle.

A welcome silence descends. It is broken only by the sound of utensils across dishware. Sousuke surreptitiously watches the two, eyes on Kurosaki-kun far more than his companion of course. They have become… well, not friends perhaps. But Kurosaki-kun is no longer emitting an aura of hatred Sousuke's direction. As such, he'll consider that a step in the right direction. At least he hasn't been kicked out or knifed in the back yet. Both of which Urahara so clearly wishes to do.

"Man, it feels like forever since I tasted Yuzu's cooking," Kurosaki-kun mutters after with a sigh a moment later. "She's the best."

"You're not doing too bad yourself," Urahara says teasingly.

Sousuke has to stifle his laughter. Clearly, the man has no idea who actually concocted his meal this evening.

Kurosaki-kun's brow rises. "Is that what you think?" he asks, and the corners of his lips twitch. He purposefully pops a vegetable into his mouth and points at Sousuke with his chopstick. "I'll have you know that _he_ cooked this particular meal. Not me."

For a moment, Sousuke is treated to the sight of Urahara's surprise. Then, the man obviously twitches in annoyance. No doubt hating the fact that he just gave Aizen Sousuke a compliment. No matter how indirect.

"So maybe you should save the praise for him?" Ichigo adds as though amused by the prospect.

Urahara snorts, looking like he's swallowed a bitter pill. "I only give praise where it's due," he states stiffly, purposefully not looking at anyone in particular.

"Jealousy does not become you," Sousuke says mildly. He's no longer interested in his meal so much as the way Urahara has been so effectively pinned.

The shopkeeper swells up like a puffer fish or a peacock with ruffled feathers. "Of what? The fact that you are useful only in a housekeeping sense?"

"Or the fact that I'm capable in the kitchen where you are not," Sousuke comments lazily and wonders when the focus of the conversation had degenerated into a juvenile show of one-up-manship.

"I'm not without my uses," Urahara argues, high spots of red painting his cheeks.

"Urahara, your tea is capable of killing a man in seconds," Sousuke drawls, all interest in his dinner forgotten. "No doubt the second division could use it as a secret weapon. Perhaps they already have."

The shopkeeper sniffs and gestures vaguely. "And you can't kill anyone. What with lacking any reaitsu."

Sousuke blinks in abject disbelief. "Are you comparing kidoh or zanjutsu with green tea?" he questions with astonishment.

Since really, Urahara couldn't possibly have meant that the way he heard it. That would simply be absurd.

"Are you insulting my tea?" the blond counters, jaw set as his eyes flash with annoyance.

Sousuke all but gapes. Unable to think of a suitable response. To be honest, this discussion has approached the realm of ridiculousness. Not an unusual territory for Urahara Kisuke, but one that Sousuke mostly attempts to avoid. No thanks to the combined efforts of his uncle and Ukitake-san.

"Well?" Urahara demands after a moment of silence. "Are you?"

Sousuke just stares at him.

And to his surprise, laughter suddenly bursts free from across the table. Sousuke blinks and turns his head, finding that Kurosaki-kun nearly has his head in his hands to restrain himself. His chest is heaving from the effort, and his face is reddened. But this is the most carefree Sousuke has ever seen him. And for all of that, his mirth effectively kills the tension at the table.

"What?" Urahara huffs, puffing up again and managing to look indignant all at once.

Sousuke, for his part, is stunned. This is honestly the first time he's heard Ichigo laugh in pure, unhindered amusement. And he has to admit, that look suits him well.

Kurosaki-kun leans back in his chair. "You know," he begins, eyes darting between the two older men. "For all that you hate each other, you guys are really alike."

Sousuke feels himself bristle almost instantly. There's no need to be insulting.

"We are _not_."

But to his unending horror, Urahara echoes the sentiment in the _exact_ same tone and at the _exact_ same time. Perfectly killing his point.

Both are treated to the sound of Kurosaki-kun's repeated guffaws for several minutes. They can only stare as he manages to calm sufficiently to rise from the table and grab his dirty dishes for transport into the kitchen.

"I prove my point," he comments and sweeps from the room.

Leaving Urahara and Sousuke to gaze in his wake.

The stunned silence lasts for all of a second before the blond narrows a glare his direction as though it's his fault alone. Or perhaps he is just annoyed that Kurosaki-kun's amusement has been won because of Sousuke as well as himself.

Sousuke returns the vile glance with one of his own before following Kurosaki-kun's lead, uninterested in continuing a verbal spat. He's well aware that he and Urahara are acting like children, but better to bicker with words than attack each other physically. Kurosaki-kun certainly wouldn't approve, and it is rather disturbing how the both of them curb their behavior for the sake a man who hadn't even reached the age of thirty. Little more than a babe in the eyes of the Shinigami but still strong enough to rally dozens to his cause. Sousuke wonders if Ichigo even understands how much power he has over them.

But then, thinking back to the war, Sousuke is pretty certain Kurosaki-kun never realized how much sway he held over everyone. He has always thrown himself forward, head first, for the sake of one friend or another. Never recognizing that others would watch his back in a second's notice. In some ways, it is admirable. In others, Sousuke always thought him foolish for not utilizing every resource available.

How very different they are.

In the kitchen, Kurosaki-kun has already started the water for the dishes. Sousuke sets his plate to the side and easily insinuates himself between the younger man and the sink so quietly that Kurosaki-kun gives him a startled glance. But when he sees that it is only Sousuke, he turns back to his task. Sidestepping and blocking when the newcomer reaches over to help.

"You cooked," the boy reminds him. "It's only fair that I clean."

"It's no great hardship," Sousuke contradicts as he reaches out again. "Besides, it will go more quickly this way."

That is very true, and he's perfectly willing to volunteer. It's only when Urahara _demands_ anything that Sousuke balks. Not to mention that it's good for Kurosaki-kun to realize he is amenable to helping out on occasion. And without an apparent ulterior motive.

Kurosaki-kun, for his part, eases out of the way. Seemingly unwilling to argue with someone volunteering to share a hated task. Instead, he simply continues his task without comment, occasionally glancing over.

"You know," he begins after Sousuke has scrubbed both of their plates and started on the main baking pan. "Volunteering for chores doesn't instantly make you a good guy."

Sousuke chuckles. "Ah, but it's a good start."

He hopes that the other man can read the humor in his voice and know that he hasn't taken offense. It's not Kurosaki-kun's fault he's been poisoned by Urahara.

"True. It's not like I've ever seen _Kisuke_ volunteer to do dishes," his companion drawls in a similarly amused tone.

Loathe to openly mock Urahara in front of his lover and even more loathe to compliment him, Sousuke decides to ignore Urahara's presence in their conversation entirely. It's not that difficult all told.

"Just don't expect me to dust," he says instead.

Kurosaki-kun arches one brow as he finishes the last glass and steps back. "Not into feather dusters, I take it?"

"Nor the maid outfit," Sousuke says in a tone that is far too calm and deadpan for the topic at hand. "Ruffles and lace are very unflattering on me. As are skirts."

That earns him another round of laughter as the younger man heads for the door. "Then, you're on your own with your wardrobe. Not to mention your laundry."

He slips out of the room before Sousuke can counter. And he marvels for a few heartbeats at the circumstances. Kurosaki-kun had been _joking_ with him. Joking. _With him._ With Aizen Sousuke. Bane of Soul Society and Shinigami everywhere. His former enemy.

Clearly, things are looking up.

And somehow, that makes him feel that much lighter inside. Bright almost. Pleasant and warm in a way he hasn't felt since the last cup of tea he and Ulquiorra shared the night before his Espada's untimely death. Content even. Like an evening spent at his uncle's house with the sound of snoring in the background as he flips the next page in his book. Like a gentle correction to Gin's fighting form and the pleased gleam of red, red eyes gazing up at him when he gets it right the very next time. The sound of Shunsui's laughter. The feel of Gin's hair as he ruffles it with his hand. The view out his office window and the way Seireitei looks in the springtime.

Happier times. Days gone but never forgotten. Preserved perfectly in his mind for a time.

Shaking his head, Sousuke returns to his scrubbing. Doing chores doesn't appeal to him overall. But there is something to be said for the mindlessness of it. For the opportunity to be busy and yet still have room to ponder. Besides, there is precious little else to do in this house.

The sound of a step in the doorway alerts him to the fact he's not alone. His back stiffens, and he fights not to turn at the following clatter of dishware on the counter. He refuses to be intimidated. And certainly not by this man. Not by anyone ever again.

"I know what you're doing," Kisuke says tightly, anger and hatred practically wafting out from his pores.

Sousuke tilts his head to the side. "Oh? Of course you do. I am making no great effort to hide it."

"Ichigo's smarter than you give him credit," the blond bites out. "He won't fall for your tricks."

"You should turn those words onto yourself," Sousuke comments without looking up. "You continuously underestimate his abilities. Not to mention his intellect."

That earns him a small flare of reiatsu. Not enough to hurt him as used to them as he's become now. More like an Academy student whose honor has just been slighted. Or whose girlfriend has just dumped him for the smarter and more promising head of the class.

"I think I know him a little better than you do," the other man snaps but then quiets afterwards.

"Or perhaps your opinion is biased by that belief."

Sousuke shrugs nonchalantly, unable to stop the smug satisfaction from rising up within him. Urahara no longer presents much of a threat. Sousuke is fairly certain that the other man doesn't realize how thin the walls in this house really are. Sure, he's heard some things he'd rather not. Like low, lustful moans in the middle of the night or soft thumping. But he's also heard other things. Quiet conversations. Sharp discussions. Proof of Kurosaki-kun's growing displeasure and disquiet.

He watches Urahara from the corner of his eyes. "Does Kurosaki-kun know that you're in here? Defending his honor from the big, bad wolf?"

Grey eyes narrow into angry slits. "Your word games don't work on me."

"They have before," Sousuke reminds him and dumps a clean dish into the rinse water just because it gives his hands something to do. "And surely, even you have realized that playing house for the rest of your life is not the kind of existence that appeals to Kurosaki-kun. He wants a life. A real life. Not some fantasy, some escape from reality that you've concocted."

Fury makes Urahara's control weaker than usual. Reaitsu uncoils from his body, slapping weakly at Sousuke's body and doing little more than irritating him. Really, he may not have his abilities anymore, but with as much reiatsu as Urahara constantly leaks – not to mention what Kurosaki-kun puts out in waves – he's almost half-convinced that he'll get them back. Just like the rest of the Karakura children exposed to Kurosaki-kun's power.

But Urahara's belligerent and grating voice drags him back to the present.

"I won't let you use him," he declares loftily and with eyes that practically spit fire.

As if he has the moral high ground.

He, Urahara Kisuke, the very same man who hid the Hougyoku in the soul of an innocent and then attempted to strip her of what little natural defense she had. The man who sent four human teenagers to rescue Kuchiki Rukia with nothing more than an irresponsible chaperone who had already slighted her duties before. The same man who served the second division for decades. Who saw to the continued incarceration of dozens of guiltless non-criminals and undoubtedly assassinated or disposed of countless more. The man who used his own student – _former_ student – for sexual release and gratification after what was arguably the worst day of his life. And continues to use him even now.

This same man.

And people think that Sousuke is the villain.

"Use him?" Sousuke questions and inclines his head. "Maybe he wants to be used. He's certainly letting _you_ do whatever you wish."

Smugly, he catches sight of Urahara's hand curling into a fist. A physical sign of his growing irritation. But Urahara won't try anything violent. Not with the possibility of Kurosaki-kun walking in at any moment. Pretenses must be kept after all. His young lover most certainly wouldn't like the idea of Urahara striking an unarmed and seemingly powerless man. Especially not over words.

Nevertheless, physical restraint doesn't stop Urahara's reiatsu from thickening, pouring over Sousuke's skin like stinging nettles. He hides his flinch and pretends that the weight of power doesn't steal his breath. And he hates, hates, _hates_ that Soul Society has weakened him to this point. That he has become this powerless again. As weak as he was as a child. As weak as he was before his father.

Only this time, there's no Kyouraku Shunsui to ride to the rescue. No, Unohana Retsu to soothe his aches and rub his back until his falls asleep. Not even Ukitake Jyuushiro to give him candy and read him a story.

He has only himself. And perhaps Kurosaki-kun should he choose to appear.

"Manipulating him isn't going to get you that throne _or_ your zanpakutou, Sou-chan," Urahara says in a tight but controlled voice that is laced with venom. "So simper and pretend and play the nice guy all you want; it makes no difference to me. You'll still be the powerless failure that you are now. The sniveling idiot who got his almost-son killed and then murdered his good-as-father."

The silence between them is dead. Not strained or tensed. Completely deceased. Filled with images of blood and Gin and things that he didn't intend at all. Consequences he knew were possible and that he ultimately paid in full.

Urahara turns on his heel before Sousuke can even think to respond. To do more than be filled with a mocking sort of horror. The blond strides from the room as though winning some great battle. Sousuke, hands buried in sudsy water, returns his attention to the soaking dishes. Too stunned to even be furious that Urahara can affect him on such a level. Too busy slamming the door shut in his mind and focusing on the task at hand.

Yes, he has entertained hopes that placing Kurosaki Ichigo on Soul Society's throne might regain some of his lost abilities. At least his beloved Kyouka Suigetsu. But it is not his sole purpose or intention. Sousuke has loftier ideals than just to return to his former glory. He wants to effect change; he wants to make a difference. His desires are not so selfish as Urahara claims.

He refuses to let the over-protective fool sway him.

* * *

In one of many bored loops around the small house, Sousuke finds himself drawn towards the main room. Sounds of heavy breathing and light thumping attract his attention. He hesitates in the open doorway, not entirely certain that it's wise to peek in until he discerns that there is only one person inside. That only makes curiosity eat at him that much more, and he steps up to glance around the doorframe.

Inside, all of the furniture has been pushed close to the walls. Which effectively leaves the space in the center free and clear. Kurosaki-kun is in the middle of what appears to be a martial arts kata, limbs moving with surprising agility as he shifts from one position to the next. And as he watches, Sousuke can recognize the patterns involved. Some are among those favored by the eleventh division, harsher and with more open aggression. While others are very similar to those utilized by the Kuchiki clan, fluid and with more subtle feints. There are even a few Sousuke remembers from his own childhood, moves taught to him by Shunsui and Ukitake-san. And he idly wonders if they also taught Kurosaki-kun. Or perhaps he learned them from Isshin or maybe even Kuchiki Byakuya.

He is hard-pressed to wander away as he ponders that mystery. Still watching as the young man goes into a kata he has never seen before, undoubtedly something of his own making or one taught in the living world alone. Kurosaki-kun is completely focused as he glides through the steps. The muscles in his arms and legs flex visibly as he twists and performs a block and counter that would undoubtedly devastating to a live opponent. The follow-up would be equally harsh and final, but somehow, he makes it seem effortless. Easy as he flows into the next part. Skin glistening with sweat and hair darkened by a coating of the same.

And Sousuke admits if only to himself that at least Urahara has taste. Kurosaki-kun is very attractive in his own way. Maturity has only deepened that, hardened teenage scowls and bluster into a serene and tempered sense of power. It also helps that he is in perfect form. Despite years away from battle, it is clear that Kurosaki-kun has not let his skills fade. That he has obviously practiced, even if only with himself.

A prudent decision. Or perhaps simply an instinctive one. A means to assuage his inner Hollow and keep control. Or maybe it merely allows him a chance to focus. Even with his maturity, he doesn't seem the type to meditate or actively work at controlling his emotions and thoughts.

Kurosaki-kun turns, in the midst of another complicated pattern, when he finally seems to notice Sousuke in the doorway. He doesn't falter. Just finishes the move before pulling up straight and swiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

"How long were you there?" the younger man asks, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby dresser and drinking deeply.

"Not long," Sousuke answers, taking a risk and stepping further into the room.

It's strange how he finds himself itching to try his luck against Kurosaki-kun. Yes, he lacks reiatsu, but for this, it isn't truly necessary. The skilled opponent can bring down a more powerful one just as easily as the reverse. And really, it's been quite some time since he's sparred with someone so skilled. Not since Gin was alive. Even those at the dojo by the school where he taught were not this good. But then, they hadn't had to rely on their skills in life or death situations either.

"That is an interesting style you have," Sousuke comments after a moment, hoping that will segue into what he truly wants.

The Vizard shrugs and lowers his bottle. "It's a mix of everything I've been taught. I usually just go with it."

"Anything to beat the boredom, I suppose," Sousuke continues with a tilt of his head as he studies Kurosaki-kun closely.

There is a bite of tension to the air, but the former captain doesn't believe it is directed at himself. Kurosaki-kun is strained. It's painfully obvious, and he wonders if Urahara has even bothered to notice or if he's too busy with seduction at every turn. The confinement and circumstances are taking their toll on the youngest member of the household. He needs an outlet more than Urahara's suffocating attentions and one that doesn't involve being molested. No matter how willing a participant he may be.

Those steady brown eyes are watching him now, evaluating. He puts down his water and pulls his arms over his head in a clear stretch.

"I don't suppose school teachers really have much opportunity to train," Kurosaki-kun says offhandedly, eyes flicking over Sousuke as though measuring and weighing his abilities. "You must be out of practice."

Is that a challenge Sousuke hears?

One brow lifts as he feels his fingers twitch in interest. Kurosaki-kun is a capable fighter, and if there's one thing that Sousuke laments, it is that he never had an opportunity to singularly face him across the battlefield. He never had the chance to test himself against Kurosaki-kun's unique abilities and strength. At least not in a true fight. The incident on the Soukyoku Hill doesn't even bare mentioning.

And he must admit that the prospect of doing so now intrigues him greatly. Even if he is far less powerful than he was before and this is in a strictly almost-friendly capacity.

"Not as much as one would think," Sousuke says casually. "Teaching didn't take up _all_ of my free time, after all."

"Really?" A cocky grin curves the other man's face. "I thought you'd spend that plotting your next bid for world domination."

Sousuke blinks, nearly astonished by the note of _teasing_ , but he allows his own smile. "Well, there is only so much one can plot in a given day. It does become tiresome after a time."

Something flashes through brown eyes. But then, Kurosaki-kun waves a hand Sousuke's direction and then gestures pointedly to the empty space in the middle of the room.

"I'm just bored enough to spend a few minutes sparring you."

"You're so gracious," Sousuke says in return.

He rather likes this teasing, confident creature who stands before him. Like Gin in many ways but also not. No matter how old Gin became or how powerful, Sousuke always remembered the young boy so content and pleased to stand in his shadow. To follow after him with a blinding grin. Kurosaki-kun is not his former lieutenant and never will be. And Sousuke doesn't even think of them in the same light at all. Gin was very much like his son. Kurosaki-kun is… _not_. Not a son at all. Perhaps an ally. Possibly a friend.

Sousuke moves into the room, briefly considering of the difficulties his current clothing will give him. The pants are not well-worn; they will hamper his movements. No matter. He knows how to overcome that hindrance.

"No reaitsu," Sousuke reminds him. "Otherwise, it will be a victory before we even begin."

Kurosaki-kun rolls his eyes. "I studied this stuff long before I became a Shinigami, you know. I won't need it."

"So you say."

Though really, Sousuke does wonder about that. There is no telling what insanity or strange ideas Isshin put the boy through. Undoubtedly, it was bloody. Violent. Full of rampant stupidity. Without any real redeeming quality.

Yes, that does rather sound like Isshin, doesn't it?

Anticipation pulses a steady beat through Sousuke's veins then as he settles into the middle of the room. Waiting. Watching. He doesn't know why a simple spar intrigues him so strongly, and it is something he will have to sit and ponder later. For now, however, he intends to enjoy the experience.

The corner of Kurosaki-kun's lips quirk towards a smile but not quite there. "Then show me what you got," he retorts cockily, shifting into an aggressive stance.

Sousuke has never been one to turn down such an obvious invitation.

Adrenaline pours through him, and he inclines his head in recognition of the challenge. Seconds later, he attacks. Not aggressively. Just a simple move meant to sound out Kurosaki-kun's instincts, to test his mettle. He aims low, feet a mere wisp across the bare floor. He knows that his opponent won't sidestep since his weight is distributed incorrectly for that, and Sousuke is pleased when he chooses to snap back instead before following up with a counter to the ribs. However, Sousuke has already moved by then. Dodged to the left. He quickly and sharply jabs Kurosaki-kun's shoulder, steps underneath his elbow, and gives him a flat palm to the chest.

It connects. A flawless flow of movement that is executed perfectly.

Which earns him a fleeting eyebrow of surprise. It is evident that Kurosaki didn't expect him to be so quick or agile without reiatsu to bolster him. But there is something to be said for years of training. He often spared Gin and even his uncle in much the same way they're sparring now. Without kidoh or shunpo or any trace of reiatsu at all. Simply skill pitted against skill.

Kurosaki-kun is good, yes. Very good in fact. Superb. But even from just watching him and from these few seconds, Aizen already knows that he's better. Not stronger. Not anymore. But better. He's more practiced. He has far more experience. Decades. Centuries even. And unlike most of those the boy has beaten in the past, he knows better than to overestimate his own abilities and underestimate those of his adversary. And further, he didn't train with just an eye towards becoming more powerful. Sousuke actually wanted to learn. To seek his limitations and surpass them. Which is why he didn't limit his spars and bouts to the spiritually gifted. He fought against all manner of people in his younger days and then later when he led a division.

The strong. The weak. The skilled. The amateurs.

Knowledge can be gained from anywhere. Even from those who would never be a captain or a lieutenant or even a seat-officer. But who knew how to make the best of what they'd been given. Who knew how to take an unruly newcomer or Academy student and put them back in place. Even when they lacked the reiatsu normally needed to do so.

Just as he does now.

They circle one another for a moment. Kurosaki-kun's eyes are no longer filled with shock. Just determination.

And Sousuke isn't at all surprised when he is the first to move. Shifting from his deceptively causal stance to outright aggression. Almost a kata from the eleventh. One that slips into a sequence Sousuke's seen the second division use, and he ducks under a fist and slides into a side kick. Kurosaki-kun merely steps away from that and follows with his own rendition of roundhouse.

They go back and forth like that for a full five minutes. Sousuke evading and countering. Kurosaki-kun the aggressor but then falling back. Until the young man shifts and goes into series of moves that are painfully familiar. Something borrowed from a kata that Sousuke remembers learning when he was still young. Before he was even a proper Shinigami.

It is one Shunsui taught him. Full of simple but effective techniques that he's had turned on him many times. However, Sousuke has long known how to counter.

He simply waits for Kurosaki-kun to come to him. Waits and then feints to the side while actually stepping forward. Stepping up and in and beyond where his opponent can now reach. It is an easy thing to rest one hand on the young man's shoulder. Just as effortless to use his other to block Kurosaki-kun's second arm as he utilizes a leg to put him off balance. Then, he lets nature and momentum take their course. Guiding and directing him to the floor. Immediately following him down with a knee to the chest that is light and gentle and would've allowed him to finish the fight were this real life.

Kurosaki-kun does three things. He hits the floor. Groans. And finally acquiesces as his head drops back.

"Damn," he pants after a second, though he can't quite hide the burn of annoyance. "I yield."

"If it makes you feel better, it was no easy task on my part." Sousuke draws back and gives the younger man room to breathe.

He chuckles, but it contains only a hint of amusement. "It doesn't actually, but I'll keep that in mind," Kurosaki-kun mutters and shakes his head. "I can admit that I didn't think you'd be this good. Though I probably should have."

Sousuke merely smiles at him. But some part of him is secretly pleased by the praise.

"I did head a division for quite some time," he demures, taking a moment to wipe at his glasses that have fogged up.

"And you gave Soul Society a run for their money, too," Kurosaki-kun adds, still lying there on the floor and making no move to get up.

Sousuke isn't certain how to best respond to that. So he keeps it simple.

"Indeed."

But the younger man just shrugs it off. "It's true," he insists and wipes at his glistening forehead. "But that last part… Damn. I thought it'd work. Jyuushiro and Shunsui both used it on me a dozen times. Always worked for them, too. Thought I'd try it out on you."

Sousuke smiles again. But inside, his thoughts are racing. He doesn't know how much Kurosaki-kun understands about the interconnectedness of the Shinigami or their bloodlines. He's sure that the boy has no idea who his father really is or who else he can call family, and he is fairly certain that Kurosaki-kun has no clue that one of his beloved teachers and mentors is none other than the uncle of Aizen Sousuke. Through marriage, yes. But uncle still. Kurosaki-kun probably thinks he slithered out from beneath some rock. Was hatched in a cave somewhere. Or perhaps that he spontaneously appeared out of nothingness.

Fortunately though, Sousuke doesn't even have to formulate a question and answer session to that. Not since Kurosaki-kun chooses that moment to sigh heavily and rub his temples. Then, he drags a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. A flush of exertion brightens his cheeks to a firm red, and his eyes haven't yet lost that adrenaline rush.

"Haven't sparred like that in awhile. No reiatsu at all. Not even a trickle," Kurosaki-kun comments. "I'd forgotten what it was like. How tiring. Tatsuki'd be kicking my ass about it."

And his hand drifts down to trail over his muscle as if expecting bruises. Sousuke can't help but watch those fingers as they slide through sweat.

For all his foibles and follies, Urahara does in fact have excellent taste. But Sousuke will never speak of such a thing aloud. _Ever_. Since that'd give Kurosaki-kun more reason to imply that he and Urahara are in any way alike. Perhaps superficially. However, Sousuke considers himself a far better man than Urahara Kisuke and always will.

Sousuke is every bit as intelligent and capable though far more circumspect about it. Not prone to fits of seeming insanity interspersed with almost self-hatred and general uselessness. Not bent on a woman who'd much rather ignore him until needed and then his own former student in the midst of a crisis. Not determined to press the boundaries of science and good sense with no real goal in mind aside from chaos.

Not to mention he was a captain longer than Urahara could ever dream of being, and unlike his blond nemesis, he didn't cheat his way to bankai either. Didn't use a device to shortcut his path there. He practiced and learned and came to an understanding about his own inner nature that Urahara Kisuke never did. Came to accept himself and Kyouka Suigetsu in a way that Urahara has never accepted himself. And the truth of that fact is evident even now. Apparent in the way Urahara denies and lies to himself so very easily.

Bankai is not just a hurdle to jump or a boundary to pass. It is more than that in the way that shikai is more than just a nifty phrase to change a zanpakutou's shape. For some, it is a quintessential comprehension of self. Of one's true nature and soul. Which in many ways explains why Sousuke is still surprised Kuchiki Byakuya ever managed it. If anyone is good at self-deception, it is that man. Though there's much to be said about force of will. About forcing oneself to reach shikai and even bankai through determination alone without self-study and understanding. That secondary method undoubtedly explains Soifon as well. Not to mention Tousen Kaname and even Komamura-kun. Possibly even the captain-commander. Another man excellent at self-deception and wrapping his actions in the blanket of the so-called greater good.

And though he understands that Kurosaki-kun used the same method as Urahara to reach bankai, Aizen has no doubt that if given enough time he could've attained it through sheer willpower. If there is anything that the young man has in spades it's determination. Not to mention the fact that an inner Hollow and the knowledge gained from one if applied properly is practically a recipe for bankai. Though he does wonder why nearly half of the Vizard never attained it. Perhaps general laziness. Or maybe they didn't wish to stare that deeply inside.

Either way, Urahara didn't even have that option. Nor does he have Kurosaki-kun's resolve. And it shows. It is clear in his words and actions. In his pining after Shihouin-san for decades. In the ease with which he diverts to Kurosaki-kun. In the way he glosses over the truth of that action and its implications. And in reality, it's not so much that he lies to Sousuke about it. More that Urahara lies to himself.

Sousuke thinks all of this in a matter of seconds. In the time it takes Kurosaki-kun to sit up. Immensely pleased that he hasn't completely lost his fighting touch, Sousuke sticks out a hand to pull him to his feet.

Of course, the moment they touch is the perfect chance for Urahara to stroll in. His whistles falling flat as he sees how close his precious, innocent student and the super-evil Aizen Sousuke are. The way his eyes widen and nearly pop out of his skull is almost comical. Though the fact they narrow heartbeats later isn't nearly so amusing.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" he says, an edge of steel in his voice.

His gaze is shadowed by that damned hat again. Which effectively makes it difficult for Sousuke to read his possible intent to attack. Though he doubts Urahara will do so where Kurosaki-kun could see. Still, he does often doubt Urahara's self-restraint. Not to mention his good sense.

Nodding, Kurosaki-kun rolls his arms. He simply ignores the sudden tension as his fingers massaging his left shoulder where Sousuke remembers placing a lucky strike.

"Something like that," the younger man grunts, eyes flicking between them noticeably.

Kurosaki-kun is neither stupid nor naïve. He knows that were he not there something very unfortunate indeed would likely occur. Perhaps he doesn't know how venomous the poison actually is, but he's well aware of the vitriol.

"Enjoy your nap?" Kurosaki-kun continues, moving to grab his earlier discarded towel and swipe it over his face and neck.

Ah, so that explains Urahara's absence. Not that Sousuke had been looking for him. He had simply assumed that the shopkeeper was out on business. Doing whatever it is he does during the day that leaves Ichigo and Sousuke to entertain themselves.

Still, to Sousuke's surprise and well-hidden revulsion, Urahara's cheeks stain a brief pink as though he has something to be embarrassed over. He doubts the reasoning is a mid-day nap, something all three of them are guilty of indulging in. No, Sousuke is pretty damn certain that Urahara's flush has everything to do with the smug grin on Kurosaki-kun's face. Though Sousuke would prefer to never learn any details. Ever. It's bad enough that he has to hear it all unwillingly. It was bad enough hearing such things in the Academy and in places that weren't so well hidden throughout his division. But at least his subordinates were mortified enough to never to be caught by him a second time.

Urahara says something nauseatingly manipulative to his lover in response, and Sousuke tunes him out, grimacing down at his own sweat-sticky body. With Kurosaki-kun otherwise occupied, Sousuke plans to snag the shower first. The pride over his brief victory fades all too quickly, reminding him in the end that this fatigue and the ache he can already feel building in his muscles are proofs of his return to mere humanity. Or a facsimile of one at any rate. Especially since by all definitions, Sousuke is still a spirit and therefore _dead._

Semantics.

Sousuke steps into the hallway and turns towards the bathroom, but an unusual sound makes him stop in his tracks. Knocking. Someone is knocking on the front door. He isn't aware that anyone _could_ notice the building enough to attempt speaking with the residents. Isn't it supposed to resemble an empty, abandoned house?

Not for the first time, Sousuke despises his weaknesses. He can't sense reiatsu anymore. And that particular ability would be incredibly useful at the moment. Is it the Shinigami? He can't tell. Not that he thinks they'd ever knock. Most of them are unmannered ingrates. And those aren't even the ones in the eleventh. Zaraki Kenpachi is many things, but at least his division has enough sense not to barge into a stranger's house. Most of the time. When alcohol or a fight isn't involved. Though truly, that is all to be blamed on Ayasegawa-san's influence.

Regardless, neither Urahara nor Kurosaki-kun seem to have noticed. Even if there's a strange gleam to the blond's eyes that Sousuke doesn't trust. But since the shopkeeper is too busy cooing sweet nothings at Kurosaki-kun, Sousuke doesn't feel inclined to invite his attention. Though uneasy, Sousuke approaches the front door. He may not have his abilities, but he hasn't suddenly become a coward either. If an enemy were to intrude, they would not find Sousuke easy to subdue.

More knocking. Louder than before. How have the others _not_ noticed this racket?

A series of possibilities dances before Sousuke's conscious. A mere human, out for a midday stroll and curious about the strangely abandoned house. A door to door salesman. Someone come to check the meter. A unit of Shinigami decisively chasing after their prey, though Sousuke would be thoroughly surprised if that were the case. For any Shinigami to have found them means they would've had to extract their heads of their asses long enough to think logically.

Sousuke snorts. A highly unlikely scenario.

The knob turns, and the door itself bursts open before Sousuke gets within three feet. He is struck with the briefest realization that it hadn't been locked before their unwelcome visitor strides in as though he owns the place. Knowing Urahara, it is quite possible that he does.

"Got tired of waiting," he announces confidently and suddenly spies Sousuke standing there.

Staring at their visitor with a perplexed mixture of surprise and horror.

Lips break into a wide smile over enormous and gleaming teeth. The better to eat him with. Or possibly just bite him. Or maybe he really is glad to see Sousuke.

Which only horrifies him all that much more.

"Hey, Sousuke," Hirako Shinji grins and gives a little wave. "Long time no see."

* * *


	20. Reunion

The first thing Ichigo sees when he steps out of the main room is the sight of Hirako Shinji pulling Aizen into a bear hug of epic proportions. Aizen, for his part, is frozen. The look on his face is a mixture of horror, surprise, and perhaps even a slight bit of fear. And Shinji seems utterly oblivious to the torrent of reactions he causes.

"Shinji?" Ichigo says, unable to hide his shock. "What the hell are you doing here? And for that matter… How? How are you here?"

"I invited him," Kisuke answers before Shinji can, stepping into the hallway. "I figured no matter what we decided to do that we'd eventually need his help."

Shinji finally releases his hold on Aizen. Leaving the former overlord to stare at him in obvious disbelief. He focuses on Ichigo.

"The minute Ki-chan told me the story, I knew I had ta come see fer myself."

He looks at Aizen pointedly. Sharp gaze raking him up and down as though weighing and criticizing in the space of a second.

"I can see he wasn't exaggerating."

Ichigo whirls towards his lover. "You could've told me!"

Kisuke shrugs, a hint of sadism gleaming in his eyes. "And spoil the surprise?" he questions and then spreads his hands. "Besides, I wasn't sure he would. Aizen's not their favorite person either."

Understatement of the century right there. Of course, they hate Aizen. The Shinigami aren't the only ones to lose someone in the war. Ichigo isn't the only one who has suffered the death of friends. He can see it even now, in the subtle tightening of the corners of Shinji's lips and the darkness in his eyes. Mashiro and Kensei are still being grieved for. For a tight knit group that is more like the family, the loss of even one of their own was strongly mourned. Much less two.

"Mah, Ki-chan, you wound me," Shinji says with a mock-pout.

Only to sling his arm over Kisuke and drag him into some sort of half-hug. And really, the two of them standing like that is a very odd sight indeed. They vaguely look like brothers. If brothers were both perverted lunatics with an odd habit of feeling up Ichigo at odd times. Though he can honestly say that Shinji probably didn't mean anything by it.

Probably.

"Have ya no faith in us?" Shinji adds a second later.

"I've plenty of faith," Kisuke responds mildly but with twitching lips. "It's your sanity that I worry about."

Ichigo snorts and remembers making some sort of comment to that effect himself. He's often thought of the Shinigami a bunch of overpowered weirdoes, but the Vizard have always taken the first place prize in that. What is it about reiatsu that seems to take away all sensibility? Or maybe it's their Hollows' influence. Ichigo can't say either way, and really, he doesn't want to know.

Shinji rolls his eyes and glances at Ichigo. "So now that I'm here, the real party can begin. What's the plan, Ichigo?"

Plan? Does he even have one? Does he ever have one?

Sure, Ichigo has vague inklings of what he wants to do. What he thinks is best. He's been in this house for long enough that he's had nothing but time to think. But he has a feeling that what he wants and what he'll end up doing aren't going to be remotely related. Especially since what he wants most is to get his fucking life back.

And he can feel two sets of eyes boring into his skull, wondering which side he has taken. As though the fact Aizen and Kisuke standing at opposite sides of a bridge are making the choice any easier. He knows what they _want_ him to do, and Ichigo knows what he should do. But choosing between the two is not easy. Nor would it be simple to voice them aloud. Ichigo swears he can already hear the resulting argument.

Instead, he shakes his head and drags a hand over his hair. "I don't know," he hedges. Better to play it safe than annoyed. "I haven't decided yet."

By the narrowing of Shinji's eyes, it's obvious he doesn't believe Ichigo for a second. His gaze skitters from Aizen to Kisuke before he suddenly darts forward and grabs Ichigo's arm.

"What're you-"

"Come along, Ichigo," Shinji interrupts cheerfully but forcefully. "Time fer a father-son chat."

"You are not my father," Ichigo responds automatically but allows himself be dragged along towards the hallway.

"Better than the one ya have," Shinji mutters under his breath. "And much better looking."

Ichigo shrugs that off. It's nothing but the truth. Though he does wonder how Shinji knows what Goat-Face looks like. They haven't met, have they?

He's too busy wondering about that to care that Shinji has pulled him all the way to the doorway. Or that Kisuke is following after them.

But that is only until Shinji pauses to shoot him a look over his shoulder. "Not you, Ki-kun!"

The other blond frowns in confusion. "But-"

"Just us! Alone!" Shinji tosses back to him as Ichigo stumbles along in his wake.

As always. And still surprised by the amount of strength in Shinji's grip. He's one of the few who can keep up to Ichigo now, and he'd be wise to remember that.

Kisuke isn't given another chance to protest. And wisely, Aizen doesn't say a word. Ichigo doesn't bother either, vaguely amused by Shinji's usual way of taking over. By forcing himself in the middle and demanding that he be obeyed.

Shinji passes the kitchen. Head swinging left and right as he frowns deeply as he counts doors. Only three and the open one most likely identifies the bathroom.

"Two bedrooms?" he comments and studies at Ichigo with a raised brow.

Ichigo fights to keep the flush from his cheeks. "Kisuke and I share," he answers, refusing to call that a mumble.

It could be taken as innocent, but he knows Shinji. The man jumps from innocent to thoroughly debauched without any reason whatsoever. In just the time Ichigo has known him, Shinji has proposed marriage and/or a sinful night of passion to no less than six women within his earshot.

Inoue. Twice. Rukia. Once with Byakuya glaring in the background. Matsumoto-san. Ise-san. But he'd only gotten hit with her book the last of the three tries. That freak Kurotsuchi's daughter. Even Tatsuki. Though that had earned him a bloody nose.

A low chuckle snaps Ichigo back to reality. And he sees that Shinji's eyebrows have crawled towards his hairline.

"I should've known," he says, infinitely amused. "Alright. Which one's your love nest?"

"Please don't call it that."

But when Shinji just leers at him, Ichigo sighs. He points to the door on the right. Shinji just laughs at him and pushes inside, all but tossing Ichigo in first before shutting the door behind him with a deafening bang. He looks around with eagle eyes, hands planted on his hips. As though determined to find some evidence of romantic liaisons. His nostrils flare as his mouth spreads into a wide grin and his lips pull back over his oh-so-white teeth. The better to eat him with and all that jazz.

"It smells like sex in here," he announces brightly. As though pleased by that fact.

Ichigo doesn't bother to fight it this time. His cheeks turn a flustered red.

"No, it doesn't," he protests because he ought to before Shinji thinks he has complete control of the situation. "And before we even start, go ahead and get all your mocking, teasing, or however else you want to embarrass me out of the way."

Shinji rolls his eyes. He gestures widely as he strolls further into the room, purposefully examining the paintings on the walls and the objects adorning the top of the dresser.

"Now, Ichigo, what makes ya think I'd get any enjoyment out of embarrassing ya."

He crosses his arms over his chest. Completely ignoring the fact that it could be seen as a sign of defense.

"Maybe because you do it every time I talk to you," Ichigo grumbles and half-wonders if Kisuke and Aizen are crass enough to press their ears to the door outside. "What's up with dragging me over here?"

"Maybe I wanted an honest answer," Shinji replies, poking around the dresser and lingering over the framed portrait of Ichigo's family – yes, even Isshin. "Since it was obvious ya weren't going ta give me one in front of Sou-chan and Ki-kun."

Sometimes, Ichigo hates how perceptive Shinji can be. It's a blessing at times because it leaves less that he has to explain. Other times, it's rather annoying. Like when he accurately guesses the new turn Ichigo's relationship has taken with Kisuke.

He bites back another sigh. "I had no interest in listening to the argument afterward," Ichigo admits.

And not because he knows it'll be a loud, screaming match. Quite the opposite in fact. It's more likely to be a semi-polite, sniping fest with Kisuke cajoling as he subtly demeans Aizen at every opportunity. While Aizen tries his best to come off as the good guy while offhandedly scorning Kisuke in return.

In other words, the same thing Ichigo has been forced to endure for nearly the last two months or so. It's like being around a bunch of kids. Or amusingly, the Shinigami.

That thought is enough to make Ichigo snigger to himself inside. Though he doubts either man will find the connection amusing.

"A difference of opinion, I gather?" Shinji inquires, moving on from the dresser to examine one of the frames on the wall.

It holds some kind of haiku in a flowery script. Ichigo's stared at it often enough that he doesn't pay much attention to it anymore.

"Something like that," the younger man drawls and focuses on his friend. A man he has come to grudgingly respect over the years.

Sure, Shinji can be just as immature as Renji at times. But he's also smart, perceptive, and loyal. Not to mention powerful. He's never betrayed Ichigo, and for that, Ichigo trusts him.

"Kisuke won't like the direction I'm leaning," Ichigo elaborates, unfolding his arm and moving to sit in the one chair in the room not covered in unfolded laundry. "And Aizen won't like how I mean to go about it."

"Oh?" Shinji turns toward him, grinning broadly. "Do tell." He rubs his hands together.

Ichigo leans an elbow against the arm of the chair. "I can't go back," he says quietly. "I mean, that's pretty damn obvious. I can't go back to my old life, and I can't avoid involvement in Soul Society."

Taking a seat on the neatly made futon – and yes, Ichigo is so damn glad that Kisuke changed the sheets this morning – Shinji inclines his head. Just to show that he's listening.

"They've been known ta be tenacious if nothing else."

" _Their one redeemin' quality_ ," Shirosaki comments with a snark in the back of Ichigo's mind.

He's taken to doing that lately. Sarcastic commentary. As bored by their circumstances as Ichigo. If not more than.

For the sake of the present conversation, however, Ichigo ignores him.

"I'm not interested in hiding for the rest of my life either. I don't want to be too afraid to write my own sisters a letter," Ichigo continues. Giving his logic as if to benefit Shinji more than himself. "And there's no way in hell I'm just going to kill Aizen and dump his body in a back alley somewhere. Or turn him over to Soul Society."

"Now that's interesting," Shinji interrupts. "Why, pray tell, won't you hand him over for the traitorous, murderous bastard that he is?"

Why? That's a question Ichigo has asked himself time and time again.

Because he doesn't believe in Soul Society's justice. Because he doesn't think it will be enough for them to let Ichigo roam free. Because he thinks Aizen is just their excuse to imprison him. Because maybe in some small way, he still thinks what Aizen intends is the only proper solution. Because they've come this far, and Ichigo no longer sees him as a mortal enemy.

The answers can't be put into words. Not without embarrassing himself further. Or without Shinji insinuating other things that just aren't true.

Ichigo shakes his head. "It wouldn't be right." Still unwilling to say all the other explanations that crop up in his brain. "I know what they intended for me. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even him."

"Not even Grimmjow?"

Ichigo twitches. Shinji damn well knows that's a sore spot.

He leans forward. Balancing his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped in front of him. It's safer to watch his fingers intertwine as the past swells inside of him. Blood and screams and guilt and blame.

"It was war," Ichigo says. And damn if his voice doesn't come out hoarse. "Both sides are equally guilty of murder."

' _Even me_ ,' he adds silently.

If he condemns Grimmjow or Aizen or Ichimaru, then Ichigo must also condemn himself. It was war, and both sides were right, or both sides were wrong. It just depended on where one was standing when the battle began.

There's no such thing as good or evil. Just different sides to the same story. That's what one of his literature teachers once said. And the class had laughed at him at the time because to them everything was so black and white. So obvious. But now, Ichigo thinks he knows what his professor was talking about.

"You've grown up."

Ichigo's gaze snaps up. "Of course I have," he mutters. "I'm not fifteen anymore."

"I'm not talking about your age." The expression on Shinji's face is hard to read, but it's as though he's looking at Ichigo in a new light. "But if ya aren't gonna turn Sousuke in and ya aren't gonna run, what _are_ ya gonna do?"

Ichigo feels the corner of his lips tug towards a smirk. "What else?" And he straightens. "I hear there's a vacancy for a certain throne. And Aizen seems to think I can fill it."

"Oh? So you're listening ta Sou-chan now?"

"He made some good points, but I didn't need him to convince me." Ichigo shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe I can prevent war from happening again."

Shinji stares at him. "So you're going to sacrifice what you want for the Shinigami. _Again_."

"It's what I'm good at," the younger man admits.

Besides, even if he does run away, he has a feeling that won't stop the wheels already in motion. Soul Society is slowly tearing itself apart. He can't see it, but Ichigo can feel it. There's a rift being drawn right down the center, and Ichigo knows he's standing smack dab in the middle of it.

Shinji gives him a hard look. "Ichigo-"

"Look, it's obvious I'm not going to be left alone. And to be honest, I'm never going to be normal again."

Ichigo can fool himself only for so long. He'll never be able to cultivate a normal life. He'll never be able to not be a Shinigami. Or a Vizard. He'll never not have a Hollow. Or be able to forget the war. What it's like to watch a friend bleed to death. What it feels to take a life and the taste of blood and bile in his mouth afterward.

"I might as well make the best of it," he finishes.

Rising to his feet, Shinji shakes his head. "You've got bigger balls than me," he comments and clasps a hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "But we're on your side, Ichigo. Always have been. You're not gonna do this alone."

Ichigo manages a tight smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." Shinji claps his hands together and straightens, looking pointedly around. "Now the first order of business is ta get ya out of this cramped house and into a place where you can spread your wings. Seriously, this place is tiny. You must be going batshit here."

"You have no idea." Ichigo barely suppresses a sigh.

Even Shirosaki perks at the thought of being able to leave the small house for once. Ichigo is desperate to draw out his abilities and blast away a few inanimate objects.

"There's only one choice then," Shinji says with some grand gesture. "You'll have ta come back with me ta our hangout. Of course, Ki-kun and Sousuke can come, too. I wouldn't think to separate ya from your love muffin."

Ichigo shudders and makes a disgusted face. "Don't call him that."

"Why not?" Shinji's grin widens to something mischievous and terrifying. "Does it embarrass ya or something?"

That question in itself is a trap, and Ichigo knows it. He shakes his head and moves past him, heading for the door.

"Let's just go before Kisuke and Aizen start making up theories of their own about what we're _really_ doing in here."

Shinji's laughter follows him into the hallway, but it's not quite loud enough to block out the noise of two voices involved in a heated discussion. Well, Ichigo better face the facts. Aizen and Kisuke are arguing. Only they don't do it like any other argument Ichigo has ever witnessed. They snip and snipe and taunt and mock and insult. All in quiet, pleasant words that reek of intelligence and mind games. At least, Aizen's words are usually pleasant. Kisuke's, on the other hand, tend to become nasty after awhile.

The two are nearly nose to nose – how strange that they are almost reflections of each other. And their bodies are tense with restrained violence. Reaitsu ripples briefly down the hallway before Kisuke viciously reels it in.

"You simply can't stand the fact that what I speak is truth. And that is merely because I am the one who says it," Aizen is saying sharply.

Kisuke snorts. "Truth? Now for you, that's a rather loose concept. Not correcting another's assumption is the same thing as a lie!"

"So I am able to read minds then?" Aizen counters, one eyebrow twitching. "I see you must have perfected that ability already then. It seems to have worked so well for you."

Cheeks reddening, Kisuke looks to be heading full tilt towards a physical retort.

Ichigo fights to keep another long and weary sigh from escaping his lips.

Beside him, Shinji raises both brows and elbows Ichigo in the side. "Are they always like this?" he asks quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the bickering duo.

Much like someone would when observing a train wreck. Or the Shinigami in the midst of a Menos Grande attack.

"Yeah," Ichigo mutter. He drags his hands through his hair and resists the urge to tug on it out of sheer frustration, but it's also a reminder that he's in need of a haircut. Badly. "Though they think I haven't noticed." He rolls his eyes. "It would take a blind, deaf, and dumb man not to notice that."

Shinji gives him a sympathetic look. "Ya poor thing," he says and pats Ichigo on the shoulder. "No wonder you'd rather take on Soul Society. They're like a married couple. An old, married, ugly couple. I mean, their kids would be hideous."

Despite himself, Ichigo manages a chuckle and watches as Shinji strides forward without a care in the world. The argument reaches a crescendo – Ichigo's not even listening to it anymore – but Shinji doesn't even slow down. His hands snap out, and to Ichigo's astonishment, he slaps both upside the head as though they are a couple of grade-schoolers.

Ichigo gapes.

"Children," Shinji drawls with a wide grin and blatantly ignores the twin looks of betrayal, surprise, and fury that are shot his direction. "I expected better of ya. Can't we all just get along?"

This is accompanied by some grand gesture of peace.

Kisuke sniffs sullenly, half-resembling a brat who's just been scolded. "I thought you of all people would understand my position."

"And you claim I'm the manipulator," Aizen murmurs more to himself, but it's enough to garner a furious glare from Kisuke anyway.

Shinji blithely ignores most of that. "Course I do. Sousuke here's evil incarnate. Everyone hates him." Smirking, Shinji glances at Aizen from the corner of his eye as though sharing some private joke. "Except now he's as helpless as a baby. And he's so cute like this. Look at those cheeks! They're so round now! You've been gaining weight." He makes a pinching motion with his fingers.

Fire smolders behind thin-rimmed glasses. "Not entirely, Hirako-san," Aizen says tightly.

"Eh, close enough."

Shinji slings an arm over Aizen's shoulder as though their camaraderie has not faded for the passing years and the betrayal that lies between them. Or maybe this is just his idea of revenge.

"It certainly makes it easier to like you again," he continues blithely. "And really, Hirako-san? We're too far into this relationship for that. Shinji, Sou-chan. It's Shinji." He squeezes Aizen closely and all but rubs their faces together.

"Did you finish your discussion?" Kisuke interjects with amusement as Ichigo finally joins the three.

Of course, he's wondering if all of them are being led by the nose by Shinji or if it's just his imagination.

Shinji grins again. "Of course. And we've come to a decision."

"Oh? Care to share?"

Ichigo takes this as his cue to speak. "We're leaving here and going with Shinji. At least, they have a lot more space, and we won't be so… _cramped_."

And if Ichigo's lucky, he can somehow put some space between the terrible twosome to stop their unending disagreements.

Kisuke frowns. "Is that your only reason?"

Tossing him a look, Ichigo shakes his head. "No. But I've not made any final plans yet either. For now, it's just a move. I'm tired of sitting here and waiting. I want to leave. Go somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else."

"And who wouldn't?" Shinji inserts with a pointed look around, almost as though he were chastising Kisuke for their living arrangements. "Ya can hardly breathe in here. And see, poor Sousuke's already suffering. He's practically withering away."

"As if that would be such a loss," Kisuke mutters.

But then, he jumps at the sudden lash of reiatsu that Shinji all but smacks him with.

"None of that now," the older man admonishes and gives Aizen another squeeze as if in comfort. "We're all friends here."

Kisuke twitches. Aizen looks torn between severe agony and being smug for his own good. But that's only briefly. Ichigo supposes that he's realized that he is at the bottom of the food chain. And his presence is tolerated and not necessarily warranted. At least by most of them. Shinji just seems so damn glad to see him.

"Don't worry, Sousuke!" Shinji chimes in, as though reading the other man's mind. "We wouldn't think ta leave ya behind."

"We could," Kisuke puts in petulantly.

Ichigo pretends that he didn't hear that. Sometimes, Ichigo marvels at how much he really is the more mature one here. For all their lifespan and power, the Shinigami have always surprised him with how very juvenile they are.

"We aren't," Ichigo corrects and suppresses a weary rub of his head. "Like it or not, Aizen's a part of this." He shifts his attention to Shinji, pointedly ignoring the shocked widening of his lover's eyes. "Can we leave now or are we waiting for something?"

Something gleams in Shinji's gaze that Ichigo can't quite recognize.

"Just waiting on ya ta pack your things," Shinji announces, only to turn and sniff Aizen, who is still wedged beneath his arm. "And for ya and Sousuke ta shower, Ichigo. You both stink."

Ichigo hastens to obey. Snagging the bathroom before Aizen can. And leaving the three men to glare and snipe and tease each other all they want without his interference.

* * *

"Itsygooooooo!"

Ichigo has mere seconds to register the threat before a tan and green blur races across the room and tackles him. Off balance, Ichigo tumbles, arms automatically wrapping around the warm attacker to prevent her from hitting the ground first.

"Itsygo! I missed ya so much!" Neliel wails, slobbering all over him as she clutches onto his shirt and tries to hug him into submission.

Staring up at the ceiling, Ichigo calmly pats her on the back. "Hi, Neliel," he greets. Swearing that he sometimes has the patience of a saint. "It's nice to see you, too."

Bright eyes sparkle down at him from a face no longer trapped in a child's body. Well, at least, not at this present time. Nel's transformations are still a little unstable, and she can randomly switch from one-

_Pop!_

-to the next.

Grinning cheekily, Nel all but wriggles atop him. Not unlike a puppy greeting her master come home.

"It's been forever. Nel thought ya had forgot 'bout her by now!"

Chuckling, Kisuke steps up beside them and ruffles the Arrancar's messy green hair. "Hello, Nel-chan. It's nice to see that you're doing so well."

"Ki-chan!"

With another happy squeal, Nel leaps from her perch at Ichigo to assault Kisuke with one of her monster hugs. Ichigo, finally feeling that he can breathe, attempts to rise and is surprised when a hand suddenly appears in his line of sight. He takes Aizen's offer gratefully, letting the former overlord pull him to his feet. Nel hits like a champion wrestler but with the force of a bullet train. In his human body, she would've crushed him. And that would've made him very, _very_ unhappy.

"Still haven't managed to control those transformations I take it," Ichigo says to Shinji with a sidelong look.

The blond shrugs, scratching at his chin. "Nel's a work in progress," he responds with a grin. "She's getting better at it though. But too much excitement makes it harder."

Ichigo can't help himself. He laughs.

"Makes things a little difficult in the bedroom I suppose," he says and nearly crows when Shinji's cheeks stain pink. A little revenge on his part.

"I kicked her out," Shinji mumbles as Nel coos over Kisuke and he tickles her in return. "Until she can control everything, I mean."

Which is probably a good thing. No doubt it's rather… _discomfiting_ to be in the midst of a passionate embrace. Only for your full-figured partner to suddenly pop back to toddler size. Major turn off.

Ichigo shakes his head. "Good luck." He pats Shinji on the shoulder almost consolingly and takes the moment to roll his shoulders, ease the kink, and look around him.

After the war, the Vizard ran. Unwilling to be easily found by Soul Society. Ichigo expected them to embrace common sense and move into an apartment complex or share a large house or something else sensible. Or perhaps just not stick to each other like glue.

And at first appearance, Ichigo thought they'd done that very thing. From the outside, the building resembles a three-story apartment complex complete with glinting windows, laundry lines, and a milling house cat in the nearby alley. Upon climbing the front steps and entering the door, however, Ichigo found himself stepping into a brief entryway. Just beyond it, a wide open space identifies the innards of another warehouse.

He should've known.

If Kisuke had any hand in helping them find this place, no doubt there is a secret underground training area somewhere in the warehouse. Ichigo looks forward to seeing it. Along the walls he spies a few doorways, no doubt leading to other rooms. He suspects Shinji will give them all the full tour later.

"Itsygo!"

Nel calls his name again seconds before Ichigo feels her weight fall on his shoulder with legs kicking out behind her. She settles on him easily. Like he last saw her yesterday and not years ago. And Nel all but rubs her face up against his cheek in her excitement.

But then, Nel stills and turns to look at him with confused eyes.

"Ya feel different," she says softly. "Kinda tingly."

Ichigo freezes. "I do?" he questions and tries to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah… Not bad though." Nel shrugs and perks up then. "And yer stayin' awhile dis time, right? Right?"

Ichigo gives a smile and pats her head, inwardly relieved. She reminds him so much of his sisters that it sends a pang through his heart.

"Yeah. For a little while at least."

"Yay!"

Nel pumps her fist in the air in celebration. And promptly loses her hold on his shoulder, sliding to the floor with a little bounce.

Ichigo wishes he had that much energy. Instead, he just feels more and more tired lately. He's too young to feel this way. Maybe what he needs is to let Shirosaki loose and rage on inanimate objects. It may refresh him. But he doubts it.

The other Vizard make an appearance then, perhaps drawn by the noise. And Ichigo smiles again at the sight of them. Familiar and friendly and largely unchanged. Except for the fact that they're missing two of their own. That fact results in a lingering pall over the usually rowdy group, but Ichigo can't blame them. The echoes of his own losses weigh heavily on him, too.

Rose, for reasons unknown to any of them, has cut his hair to just above his shoulders. And while it looks good on him, it's a startling change. Maybe it has something to do with mourning for Kensei and Mashiro. Or the fact that his hair had been used against him during the war as a grip for one of the Espada. Ichigo doesn't know, and he doesn't ask. It'd be like prying open an old wound.

Beside Rose, as always, is Love. He looks largely the same. The shape of his sunglasses has changed, and he walks with a defined limp – something Inoue had been unable to cure before the Shinigami stole her powers from her. But he greets Ichigo with a grin nonetheless and watches Nel with an amused air.

Hachi arrives at his usual, sedate pace. He's a little older looking, a little more stressed, but essentially the same. He's taken Kensei and Mashiro's deaths the hardest. Believing he could have been stronger, faster, more skilled… anything to have saved their lives. Ichigo understands; he lives those thoughts every night in his sleep and every time he thinks about those he failed to save.

Lisa appears, emerging from one of the doors and calmly adjusting her glasses with a motion that strongly reminds him of Ishida. Her hair is no longer in those restricting braids, rather flowing loosely down her back with the left side falling into her face. Yet, her bangs can't quite hide the puckered, marred skin where she'd been caught in a fierce cero. Ichigo knows that the burns stretch even further, going down the side of her neck and the entire length of her arm. Most of the time, it's completely useless. But Lisa can on occasion wriggle her fingers. Another causality from the war and Inoue's loss of power.

These are the Vizard. Now Ichigo's closest friends outside his classmates from Karakura and a select few from Soul Society. He's bled with them and cried with them and fought with them. They've helped him tame Shirosaki. And he's stood at their sides as they mourned their own. And they are the only ones who _understand_.

Maybe they're a little strange. But consider the source. Former Shinigami now with Hollows living in their souls. That's enough to change anyone. Besides, he suspects they were strange to begin with anyway.

"Urahara!"

A red and blonde smudge rips through the air. And Ichigo watches, amused, as Hiyori greets Kisuke with her foot. His lover doesn't even bother to move. Just scratches his chin as Hiyori collides with his groin with a dull thunk. Seconds later, she drops back with a scowl still twisting her face as she bites her lip to hide the pain.

"Dammit," she growls, hands bunches into fists before pointing one shaking finger. "That's not playing by the rules!"

"Still wearing the cup I see," Shinji comments before shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling further inside.

"It was the first thing I packed," Kisuke returns solemnly and gazes down at his former subordinate. "Nice to see you, too, Hiyori. And as I recall, you always said that there were no rules."

She sniffs, turning her nose up at him as her arms cross her chest. "Maybe for you."

Ichigo just hopes that he's slid under her radar. If there is one person who hasn't changed for the war, it's Hiyori. She's still loud, obnoxious, and violent. Quite the charmer really. She should meet Goat-Face; Ichigo bets they'd get on like a house on fire.

"Come on, Nel," Shinji says, grabbing the small Arrancar's fingers. "Let's show Ichigo where he's gonna sleep."

She cheers, and with a pop, a full-grown woman now stands in her place. Ample assets jiggling as Neliel embraces Shinji wholeheartedly. Shinji, too full of himself to be embarrassed, gamely heads further into the warehouse. Likely assuming that Ichigo will follow.

Ichigo simply moves to follow and hears Kisuke step up beside him. Making a beeline for Love and Rose as though planning to catch up on old pastimes. Hiyori dogs his steps, a glint of revenge in her eyes.

"Your Hollow is restless," Lisa comments to Ichigo as he passes, giving him a once-over. "He'll break loose if you're not careful."

Ichigo shakes his head. "We've come to an understanding," he reassures her and glances around pointedly. "But just in case, where can I let off some steam? I know there's a nearly indestructible room here somewhere."

Smirking, Lisa jerks a thumb from her unscarred hand over her shoulder, towards one of the doors tucked away in a corner. "You'd be right. Through there and down the rabbit hole."

"As always."

Ichigo nearly has a bounce in his step. He feels so goddamn free it's like he can breathe again. The feeling of a vice closing about his chest is loosening now, and Ichigo suspects it'll get even better once he can finally bear Zangetsu again. Feel his zanpakutou in his hand and allow his reiatsu to flow free.

It takes Ichigo a minute to realize that he's heard little from Aizen since they arrived. Or to be more precise, he hasn't heard anything from the man at all.

He turns, finding that Aizen's lingering at the back of the crowd. He is completely composed, shoulders straight, standing tall. But there's a wariness in his eyes that proves Aizen is very much aware that he's surrounded by those who do not consider him a friend. Or even an ally.

The Vizard give him a mixture of annoyed and skittish looks. Clearly not pleased by his presence. Neliel stares at him, curious. Kisuke is doing a fantastic job of pretending that Aizen doesn't exist. And Shinji has an almost frightening gleam in his eye.

But Aizen catches him looking then. Ichigo pauses, letting the mixed crowd pass by until he and Aizen are in speaking range.

"Are you certain this move was necessary?" Aizen asks, perhaps his only outward sign of discomfort.

Ichigo arches one brow. "If you want to put me on a throne, you're going to need power to do it. And despite what everyone thinks, I'm not enough on my own."

"I wasn't aware that you had accepted my goals," Aizen returns smoothly.

Ichigo shrugs. "I haven't. I'm just doing what I have to do." He smiles, crooked and maybe a little mischievous on its own. "Try not to antagonize them too much. We really do need their help."

Then, he turns and walks away. Following in Shinji's wake as though he hasn't a care in the world. And the entire time it takes him to walk across the room, he feels Aizen's eyes staring after him.


	21. Interlude Four: A Modern Myth

Sou-chan is curled up on his side when Shinji gets back to their now shared room. His mouth is open a little with his hand tucked under his head like a kid. He looks so fucking innocent like that. Not at all like the man who practically stabbed his comrades in the back and more like the boy Kyouraku Shunsui claimed as a son.

He can almost picture that kid, too. Nose stuck in a book and big, bright eyes hidden behind his glasses. Smile shy and little more than a quirking of lips. Brown hair somehow neat but messy at the same time and forever making him seem like he just woke up in the library after studying late. Strangely looking just like his uncle if Shunsui happened to be the king of the nerds and not a lazy, skirt-chasing drunk.

So cute. So innocent.

But then, Lucifer was supposed to have been an angel. And history is full of seemingly nice people with demons inside. And maybe that describes Aizen Sousuke better than anyone really wants to admit.

Shinji knows the instant he wakes up since it's the exact same second that Shinji steps out of the doorway and into the room proper. Sousuke doesn't open his eyes or even move a muscle, but some of the invisible tension eases when he realizes that it's just Shinji. He lies there for a minute before drifting back off to unconsciousness, and if that isn't a testament to what he thinks about his one-time captain, nothing else is.

And they've truly come far to get here. To get to this place where Aizen Sousuke can sleep and Hirako Shinji hasn't slit his throat already. Aside from Ichigo and Nel, he's probably the only other person that Sousuke trusts not to seriously hurt him. At least among the people currently around. Shinji seriously doubts the lovely and exquisite Retsu would so much as raise her voice to him. Even if she did help Shinji defeat Sousuke in the end.

She was and still is more a mom to Sou-chan than his own ever was. She'll be glad to see him again. She might even cry. And won't that be something to see? Serene Unohana Retsu, who's stood in the face of hardship and heartbreak for two thousand years, acting like the mom she is.

Shinji only hopes that the other one – the first one – is already dead. He's met the woman who supposedly birthed Sousuke just once, and that was more than enough for him to nearly strangle her. Only that'd involve touching her, which is something he won't _ever_ do. She's beautiful. Exceptionally so. With liquid dark eyes, smooth and shiny hair, and a figure that should be illegal for a woman with kids. And if her sister looked anything near to her, Shinji can understand why Shunsui took one glance and was riveted. But there's something about her. Something about her smile that set him on edge in a way not even her son managed. Sousuke might be a megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, but Shinji'd take him in a heartbeat over the woman who spawned him. Shinji has a Hollow, has nearly been consumed by it and a number of external ones, too. But he's never felt as close to having his soul sucked out as when he met Aizen Sakura.

He still recalls their one encounter with shivers and shuddering glances over his shoulder. It was at one of those useless functions the old fart forced him to attend. Something meant to bring understanding and build connections between the Gotei and nobles or some shit like that. Shinji just went because he was ordered. And well, the free booze. She'd come up to him already knowing exactly who he was. All smiles and demure laughter. Her eyes were lovely and a deep brown. But completely dead. Like there was no one inside and had never been. Empty in a way that Hollows had trouble replicating.

It's the first and last time Shinji's ever gone home and immediately taken a bath. Two of them. And he still felt dirty.

He can understand why Sousuke avoided her like the plague. Sure, he's a murdering sociopath, but he has standards for villainy. Ichimaru had his creepy moments, but at least, he had some redeeming qualities. And Tousen wasn't _that bad_. If Shinji squinted. And sort of moved his head back and forth and tilted it to the side. And then punched him and stomped up and down on his crotch for killing Kensei and Mashiro.

And if there's anything that truly pissed him off about the war, it was that. But he can't blame Sousuke for that one. It was all Tousen, and he's very much dead at the moment thanks to Komamura and that Hisagi guy. The only person Sousuke actually killed was Shunsui – well, aside from Chamber 46, but they don't count, and Shinji would've done them all in himself. Really, Sousuke did the universe a favor with that one. Maybe Shinji should buy him a drink or something in remembrance. Only, Sousuke's never been a fan of booze. No surprise there.

But anyway… Shunsui. Yeah, Sousuke killed him. Shinji was there; he saw it all. And as much as he hates to admit it, he's pretty sure it was accidental. That Sou-chan hadn't meant to do it. To injure Shunsui, yes. To drive him back… that one, too. But to kill him? No. As much as an unmitigated bastard and monster little Sou-chan can be, he'd never have intentionally killed his uncle. His mother? Well, Shinji and probably a couple other people would help him. His dad? Shinji has suspicions about that one.

But not Kyouraku Shunsui.

And the look on Sousuke's face afterwards… Shock. And fear. And even sadness. Guilt. Regret. He hadn't meant to do it. It hadn't been in the plans. He actually felt and still feels bad about it.

And that more than anything is probably why Shinji's finally forgiven him. Not just for the war but for everything. Why after a century of hatred and decades of distrust before that, Shinji can actually be genuinely glad to see him. Maybe to even be around him. Can refrain from killing him on sight. Can ruffle his hair and feel more than vindictive glee. Can even sling a companionable arm around his shoulders and so graciously share his room.

Well, that and the fact that it annoys Sousuke to no end. He's always been about personal space. His own little bubble that separates him from the masses. Personally, Shinji thinks he wasn't hugged enough as a kid. But that's more his shitty parents' fault than anything.

It's not an excuse. It never is. But it does explain some things. Explains a lot.

Like why Ichimaru responded so well to Aizen and followed him around like a faithful puppy when Shinji himself could barely get the time of day. Why the division as a whole responded so well to his lieutenant. Why he was always so understanding and seemingly full of sympathy. Why pretty much everybody and their dog thought the sun shone out his ass and stars sparkled in his eyes.

And he's adult enough – he is… _really!_ – to admit that part of him was a tad jealous. He was the captain. The captain dammit! But his division liked their lieutenant better and always had. The other captains liked him better, too. So did the captain-commander. And the other staff members. The old lady who ran the division kitchen. The guy who cleaned the office at night. All of the women. Not that Sou-chan ever seemed to notice. Probably still wouldn't if a naked and horny woman threw herself at him.

The gods know that Lisa did just about everything up to that point. And really, Shinji has no clue what she ever saw in him. Or what the hell Sousuke ever saw in her for that matter. Yeah, she's easy on the eyes, but she's easy in other ways, too. Ones that make even Shinji blush. And that takes a lot.

But maybe that has more to do with the fact that he knows about her past conquests. He should with how much she's told him and just about all of their group. Shinji only wonders how much Ichigo knows about that. Just how much he realizes went on before he was even a twinkle in Isshin's eye. And Shinji doesn't just mean sex or relationships between all and sundry. About Isshin's family in Soul Society and his past as a captain and then in the zero division.

Ichigo surely has to know at least some of that by now, right? If not from Isshin, then from Shunsui. Or even from Kisuke.

Especially that last one.

They're lovers after all. Shinji's nearly a hundred percent sure of that. Even if he hasn't seen them in flagrante. Ichigo all but confirmed it to him.

Not that it's a huge surprise. Shinji saw this one coming a mile away.

Yeah, he supported Ichigo when he and Ukitake had their… whatever the hell that was. Not really a relationship. Not with the way Ukitake alternated between lovey-dovey and half-panicked that he might steal his boyfriend's precious virtue. He doesn't know how Shunsui put up with it; man must've had the patience of a saint. Especially so not to take drastic measures. Like locking them both in a closet while drugged with aphrodisiacs or tying them together naked. Something. Anything at all to wipe that look of longing from Ukitake's face.

He honestly wonders why Ukitake even let Ichigo go in the first place. Why he ever let him slip away and not cling tighter to him after Shunsui died. Why he didn't so much as stand up for Ichigo when he'd been brought up on those shit charges. And yeah, Shinji'd been surprised to hear that part of the so-called trial. Not where he'd been dragged before Chamber 46 in chains; that one was almost a given. But the fact that not even Ukitake stood up for him.

Ukitake, the guy Ichigo originally wanted his happily ever after with. And if Ichigo'd had his way in the beginning, he'd be shacked up Ukitake in Seireitei at this very moment. Probably married to him. Maybe even a captain by this point. And no doubt well on their way to adopting a million brats from Rukongai and having them run around calling him and Ukitake "daddy." Kisuke would still in his damn shop, pining away after Yoruichi and not even knowing what he'd missed out on. And Sousuke'd be doing whatever he was doing before he barged back into their lives.

Funny how things turn out. Shinji still marvels at it. That they've somehow gotten to this point. Ichigo on the run. Kisuke as his lover. And them – the Vizard – on the cusp of actually joining forces with Aizen Sousuke. It's strange that he now rooms with that same guy who turned him into a monster and that he doesn't worry about being stabbed in the back.

Not anymore. And not from this man.

So fucking ironic. The whole damn thing.

And wherever he is, Kyouraku Shunsui is probably laughing at the lot of them. At Ichigo and Kisuke and even Nanao and Lisa. Maybe even at Sou-chan. Who is sound asleep again and still curled up like a little kid. Not even stirring as Shinji lies down beside him and settles in.

With Shunsui laughing all that much harder as Shinji closes his eyes and drifts off to the sound of Sousuke's breathing.

* * *

The house is quiet around him. Shadowed and lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the open windows. The hour is late, and he has no doubt that he is the sole one left awake. But he finds that fact comforting more than anything. This part of night is the only real time he has to himself and his thoughts. To ponder and consider without outside influence. To view the situation from every angle and attempt to attain a solution. To realize that an inevitable truth still remains.

Kuchiki Byakuya is at an impasse.

Not a physical one. No, that could be easily overcome. His current problem is far more subtle in nature and all the more dangerous. He knows what he wishes to do. What is right and proper if not truly legal. And he knows the consequences if he is caught. However, he also knows what will happen if he does nothing. If he becomes like Ukitake, content to stick his head in the sand and allow evil to take root. To allow a good and honorable man to be dragged away in chains.

Kurosaki Ichigo.

The center of this current conflict. And more to Byakuya that he will likely ever admit.

An ally, yes. Someone others would even term a friend. And he knows what the boy – man, really – calls him behind his back. A term all-encompassing and far too descriptive of their relations. Something that Byakuya would never dare say aloud even though he feels it in the very depths of his soul.

Even if he heard it whispered one terrible day as red hair was soaked through with blood. As the heavens suddenly opened and rain poured down in buckets and Byakuya only stood because of the boy supporting his weight. As Ichigo gripped Byakuya's sleeve so tightly his hand was white and shaking as they both knelt down in the muddy earth. As Byakuya watched the best lieutenant he's ever had breathe out his last and lie still.

He has never seen Rukia cry so hard as she did that day. Not even after Shiba Kaien.

No, that is no longer true. He has seen worse tears than that. Has watched them drip down her face to the floor as she prostrates before him. Has felt his own anger at her unintentional betrayal ebb away with her apparent horror.

Ichigo is more than a mere friend. He is not just a simple comrade. To her. To them both.

He is family.

It was shocking, yes, to learn the truth of this boy he had tried so very hard to kill in the past. Or more specifically his father. To travel to their Karakura residence in search of his sister one panicked and nearly frightful night. Only to see the face of a dead man. Of a several decades lost man who he had once called cousin. Much to his chagrin, true. But cousin nonetheless. An older cousin who Byakuya could still remember from his boyhood. Most of the memories were embarrassing when they were made and even more so now. But some had been pleasant. Almost happy. Training interspersed with laughter and good-natured taunting.

And this man was Ichigo's father. Was and still is called Kurosaki Isshin when he had once been named something else entirely.

Rukia, as far as he can discern, has no inkling of the truth. No idea that the ignorant fool Ichigo's father presents to the world is anything but fact. He suspects that Ichigo labors under much the same misconception, but Byakuya has no doubts that others know. Urahara surely must. Just as he must be involved at least passively in helping Isshin hide. That she-devil Yoruichi must as well. And certainly Tessai-san. As for others in Seireitei, Byakuya is uncertain. In all probability, Hitsugaya is in on the secret since he is courting the older of the two daughters. And it is impossible to determine what goes on in the unexpected steel trap of Zaraki's mind much less fathom what is behind Unohana-taichou's eyes. It is doubtful that Ukitake knows. Much less any of the slew of newcomers, as incompetent as they are.

No, as far as most are concerned, Kurosaki Ichigo is simply an anomaly. A human who inexplicably rose to great power. No true explanation is needed. Or wanted. All they truly want now is his head on a pike. And only that because his escape and continued evasion flies in the face of their pride. If there is anything Byakuya truly understands, it is the lengths men will go for wounded and bleeding pride.

His wanderings bring him to a crossroads in the house. The meeting point between the wing holding his private office and the one occupied by Rukia's bedroom and his own. While it is indeed late, far past midnight, Byakuya is not nearly so tired as to be ready for sleep. He has other tasks to finish first. Nevertheless, he finds his feet stepping that direction of their own accord. A soft and soundless movement on the wooden floorboards. Easing down the hallway and stopping just outside Rukia's door.

After Ichigo and Ukitake ended their… _liaison_ , a part of him had hoped that the younger man would drift to Rukia in her captain's stead. They were already close companions, and Byakuya knows that few would ever treat his sister as well as Kurosaki Ichigo. That she would've been honored and cherished all her days. That she would never want for affection or happiness as so many of the highest nobles do and as Rukia herself did before their fortuitous meeting. It would've been a good match, an excellent one. Ichigo was a war hero and is powerful enough to appease even the most stringent of his clan. And it would've effectively made any children part of his family by blood if not necessarily name.

Regardless, it never happened. And now, it clearly never will. Even if Ichigo's name were to be cleared and he returned to Seireitei. Even if he forgave Rukia and once more offered her friendship. They will never be as close as they were before. And certainly not close enough for a successful marriage. Not to mention that Byakuya has his suspicions about Urahara Kisuke and the nature of that man's relationship with his one-time student.

But that is ultimately Ichigo's decision. And truly none of his business. Especially since he has never acknowledged their tie aloud or to anyone besides himself. Still, Byakuya can't help the faint twinge of worry that creeps down his spine. Perhaps it is simply the older brother in him. Perhaps it is something else. Something more deeply familial. The urge to look after one who has protected Byakuya's own sister from so much.

Rukia is restless in her sleep when he glances inside. Curled up but twitching and kicking out like a nervous rabbit faced with a predator. And Byakuya can't help but move to straighten her covers, which are balled up at by her feet. She is impossibly thin in her enormous futon as he pulls the blankets back up and strokes her sweat-soaked hair from her face. Thinner than she was at the start of the year. Intellectually, he knows it's from the stress of the last two months, but a part of him is still disturbed by this. By the fact that her cheeks are no longer as round and that dark circles highlight her now dulled eyes. Her resemblance to Hisana just before his wife's death is only growing. And perhaps that is what disquiets him the most.

He has already lost his wife. His lieutenant who was also a friend. A now seemingly a comrade who is a cousin. He has no desire to lose his sister as well.

Rukia shifts just as his hand pulls back and lets out a high-pitched sound. But then, she unexpectedly quiets and drifts into a more restful slumber. Byakuya lingers a minute longer to ensure that it isn't a temporary thing and softly withdraws when her breathing deepens. However, that isn't before he casts a quick kidoh, a spell he learned from Unohana-taichou when it became clear Hisana's illness would only worsen. Something to keep him appraised of her condition as long as he remained within range. Now, he uses it for his sister. To stay vigilant in the wake of the nightmares he knows she still often has.

Byakuya shuts the door softly behind him and eases down the corridor the way he came. His steps take him back to the intersection from earlier. Yet, he takes a different path this time. One that heads away from the sleeping quarters and the daytime haunts of his relatives and towards the more unused parts of the mansion. He moves quietly and lightly out of habit more than wariness. He knows that those in power would like nothing more than to spy on him within his own residence, but his retainers and guards are loyal not just to the Kuchiki as a whole but to him as an individual. And none short of Kusajishi Yachiru – lieutenant by profession but ninja by preference – can get in unannounced.

Of course, Byakuya has few worries of her visits anymore. As with many things, he has simply learned to live with it. He's even contemplated giving her a bedroom of her very own. Fitting given the number of times he has found her asleep in various odd locations throughout the mansion. The room next to Rukia's is still unoccupied, and he does not think his mother would begrudge a little girl the use of a space she no longer needs.

Besides, he believes it will almost be worth it to see the expressions of the general populace when they learn. Zaraki will undoubtedly just laugh. That fearsome but full-bodied guffaw he gives so rarely these days. But then, no one in Seireitei laughs much anymore. Not since the war. Though honestly, they didn't much laugh before then either. And always with a nervous glance over the shoulder. A skittish twitch of eyes to the shadows. Wary of what was said and how it might be taken. Who could've overheard.

Byakuya comes to the end of a long corridor and slips down a much shorter and darker hallway that is neatly hidden behind a wall scroll. The way is mostly unlit, and he navigates by memory. He's taken this path often enough in the last few years to know it well. Few others know of it at all. And most of them aren't even residents. Truthfully, it is meant only for the head and his or her most trusted followers, and Byakuya has put that fact to good use.

Allies are always useful. Some more than others. Ise-san's support is forever welcome, but he knows it is difficult thing for her these days. She is watched as closely as Ukitake, her captain, and it is hard for her to slip away. Hard for most captains and lieutenants to even walk down the street without eyes watching.

However, that doesn't not mean others cannot. That they cannot move free of suspicion.

And Byakuya reaches the end of this journey and slides open the side door just in time to see them glide into the ready-made shadows cast by the house itself. He sends an appraising eye over them both and then to the garden beyond. Silently pleased that he doesn't even feel a stray flicker of reiatsu.

"Do come in," Byakuya invites with a gesture.

Ayasegawa simply inclines his head and eases by him. Somehow adding a slight sashay to his step but showing no other outward sign of his one-time flamboyance. Yamada follows him sedately, daring a quick glance and twitch of his lips into an almost smile.

And Byakuya closes the door behind them with a quiet but firm snap.


	22. Passion

It's utterly wonderful to be in the presence of those Kisuke can easily consider allies again. Ichigo will always be his trusted friend, student, and most recently his lover. But he doesn't perceive Aizen as the complete bastard that the former overlord and traitor is. So as much as Kisuke cares for Ichigo, it's not the same as having someone on his side.

The Vizard, however, are in _complete_ agreement with him. With the exception of Shinji of course, the others have no interest in Aizen or making friends with him. They openly shun the bastard. And for that, Kisuke couldn't be more thrilled.

"What's Shinji thinking?" Love gripes, only to draw in a sharp breath.

"Sorry," Kisuke apologizes and moves his hands elsewhere, peering closer at the skin on Love's bad leg. There are some scars but not as many as there could've been.

It looks fine on the surface – superficially. But only Kisuke knows how badly the bones were broken beneath. Shattered more like. And twisted in other places. Kisuke was forced to use some artificial material to compensate for what couldn't be fixed. Love's Hollow abilities helped some. Maybe they are the explanation for why he can actually walk, even if he would never have full motility.

"And I can't even begin to guess what your illustrious leader has on his mind," Kisuke admits a moment later.

And really, he's very confused about Shinji's reaction towards Aizen. He expected punches. At the very least one. Not hugs. Not pats on the back. And certainly not smiles. Not the nice ones at any rate.

"He's acting as though he's forgiven him," Rose comments from where he's sitting and idly leafing through a manga.

Love snorts. "No, he's like a puppy following his new master around. It's insane."

"Shinji's reasoning has always been beyond the grasp of us mere mortals," Kisuke puts in with a smirk and drags his hand through his hair. "Looks like things are just fine to me. Give it a couple more decades and you might not even limp anymore."

"Small favors," Love mutters and rubs a tired hand over his forehead. "Someday, I'm going to find that bastard and pay him back. Coward didn't even stick around to finish the job."

Rose waves one hand through the air. "You're more than welcome to go into Hueco Mundo and scour miles of desert while being hunted by Hollows, Love. But don't think anyone will volunteer to go with you. At least, not when we've got bigger problems at hand."

"Yeah, like our greatest enemy living right under our noses."

Kisuke shakes his head and stands. "Well," he inserts brightly, hoping to change the subject. He's spent the last two months living with Aizen; the last thing he wants to do is talk about the man. "I'm done here. So has anyone seen Ichigo by chance?"

A glint of amusement darkens Rose's eyes. "The last I saw, he was heading toward the training room. Thinking of joining him then?"

"Something like that," Kisuke says, not missing the look that passes between the other two. "He's eventually going to want a better challenge than rocks and boulders."

"Right. A spar." Love hauls himself to his feet, swaying momentarily before shifting most of his weight to his good leg. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Kisuke sniffs, tugging his hat lower on his forehead. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Chuckling, Rose rises to follow after his friend with a slight smile. "I'm sure that you don't. See you later, Kisuke."

The two wander away, leaving Kisuke to stare at their departing forms. Perhaps he hasn't been discreet enough if even Love and Rose are hinting deprave things at him.

With nothing left to do, the blond wanders out of the side room, more like a den than anything else, and follows through with his plan to find Ichigo. Having helped the Vizard find and build this place, he knows his way around without needing a guide.

In the massive, main room, he spies Shinji following Aizen as the latter attempts to flee into the kitchen. And in front of the decently sized flat screen television, Lisa is engrossed in some American movie with cowboys. Kisuke's not sure which, and sometimes, with Lisa, it's best not to ask.

Kisuke drops into the underground room, very similar to his own but with the Vizard's own unique influence. It's not as bright. Not as full of random juts of rock. But still wide and open. He hears Ichigo before he sees him, and spots a cloud of rising dust heartbeats later. Reiatsu is thick in the air, crawling familiarly over him like a lover's touch. Benihime hums in her sheath, eager to join. Eager to play.

A few flashes of shunpo and Kisuke stands on a ridge, looking down at Ichigo as he blasts away at a very dangerous rock. He's borrowed clothes from someone – maybe Love since he's just a bit taller or possible even some of Kensei's old things – and now wears hakama and a black shitagi. Perhaps it's because he feels most comfortable fighting in that. They are a bit more freeing than jeans and a t-shirt.

Reiatsu tickles Kisuke's senses, and his nostrils flare as though he can smell it. His own rises, battling against his shields. He places a hand on Benihime. Ichigo's masked at the moment, power so thick in the air that it feels like a constant pressure. Enticing and encouraging. It's been so long since Kisuke let loose.

Zangetsu whips through the air, and Ichigo's reiatsu spikes, thick with the tang of Hollow and a little something extra that vibrates the earth and false sky. Kisuke watches with admiration – perhaps even a hint of envy – as energy swells around his former student. He thinks he can see why Soul Society would be concerned. If he didn't know Ichigo personally and all he saw was the raw power, the capability for destruction, he'd be worried as well. But he knows Ichigo, knows the man before he knows the power. And because of that, Kisuke would never doubt. Not even for a second.

Suddenly, Ichigo pauses, mid-swing, as though sensing something that makes him take pause. His head turns slowly. Mask looking Kisuke's direction. Those black-gold eyes focusing on the shopkeeper for a brief instant. And then, he vanishes.

Kisuke doesn't have to look to know where Ichigo's gone. He feels the Vizard appear behind him, cloaked in reiatsu, radiating smugness and challenge.

"Come to watch, Kisuke?" Ichigo's voice contains that strange Hollow rumble, which makes the blond's flesh tingle and his heart race. Not out of fear but out of anticipation. "Or do you have a better use for that sword?"

Kisuke turns, tilting his head so that he can better see Ichigo from beneath his hat. "Is that a challenge, my dear?" he inquires mildly, grip curling around Benihime.

She's practically singing now, trembling with eagerness. She knows Zangetsu so very well, and it feels like forever since the two blades have kissed properly. She's so eager to greet her mate that she vibrates in his hand.

"Only if you think you're up to it."

Smirking, the ex-captain touches a finger to the brim of his hat. "Your wish is my command," he drawls and draws Benihime in one fluid motion; she glints in the unnatural light.

There is a space of a heartbeat where the world stills and Kisuke's focus narrows. To the sensation of his reiatsu rising around him, eager and free. To the weight of Benihime in his hands. To the taste of anticipation on the air. Sharp and piquant like sweat and blood. To the pulse of his veins and the weight of each breath.

The second passes, and Kisuke springs forward. His speed nowhere near a match for Ichigo's own. But he has the agility of a ninja and years of training to back him up. He hears the Vizard chuckle behind that mask, and their blades meet with a resounding clang.

"Is that all you've got?" Ichigo taunts, amusement mostly his own but partially Shirosaki's as well. Kisuke's known Ichigo long enough to tell them apart.

"My dear, I've only just begun," Kisuke retorts, and his eyes narrow briefly before a kidoh spills from his lips, one that he learned from Tessai years ago. " _Raika_."

Energy flows between them in a flare of white and red. A strange mix of fire and lightning, a twisting spiral of pure destruction. It surges towards Ichigo eagerly, as if desperate to taste the odd mix of Shinigami and Hollow. And if he weren't so confident in Ichigo's abilities, he might have regretted using such a powerful spell. But his lover has never appreciated being coddled, and Kisuke's not about to start now. Not when he knows that this is what Ichigo wants. A challenge. Not a mere spar.

Ichigo laughs, even above the sound of the spell and as their blades part as Kisuke twists to avoid the backlash. The Vizard, however, doesn't move. His voice thick with amusement as he hisses – to Kisuke's pleased surprise – another spell in return.

" _Bakudo no hachi jyuu ichi, Danku_."

The spell collides against Ichigo's barrier, a flash of light and smoke filling the air as one fights to overcome the other. Normally, that shield shouldn't be strong enough to stop the kidoh he'd used. But with Ichigo's level of power, it somehow is. And Kisuke watches with admiration in the face of such skill and prowess. All those lessons with Unohana and Shunsui definitely paid off. Not to mention the extra boost that Ichigo got after the war.

But his skin prickles in warning then mere seconds before Ichigo comes through the cloud of intertwined kidoh with Zangetsu raised. Kisuke's foot braces against the ground as their blades meet. They exchange blows, swords ringing, metal flashing. Ichigo hits hard and fast. Kisuke light and sneaky. He jabs forward, catches a bit of black cloth on Benihime's tip, and then can't quite avoid the slash of a sword across his upper arm. Blood beads up from the shallow cut, and Kisuke drags his tongue over his lips.

"You've gotten better."

He twists to avoid one of Ichigo's many heavy-handed blows. Then he ducks, watching as his beloved hat flies from his head to land on the ground somewhere behind him, forgotten.

"Made you bleed, didn't I?" Ichigo retorts without a gasp, without a single sign that he might be tiring even though he's been down here for a good hour. Letting off steam and pummeling the rocks into submission.

Kisuke smirks and drops down into a brief crouch, intending to hit low and quick. He darts past Ichigo, coming up behind his student with Benihime raised. He slashes upwards, aiming for a solid back. But Ichigo whips around so fast that he's a mere blur. Their zanpakutou meet briefly, a taunting kiss. Then, Ichigo twists to the left and drags the blades together in a humming whine of metal on metal.

The sound carries high and loud in the air; Kisuke winces. Ichigo smirks as the blond falls back a step, pushed off balance, and presses his advantage. Kisuke, however, plants his left foot against the dirt and ducks under Ichigo's harsh blow, coming up just behind him. He twists, slamming the flat of his blade against the Vizard's back, just a friendly tap. A reminder. It almost feels like Ichigo's playing with him now.

Ichigo stumbles forward, and Kisuke raises Benihime for another strike. However, the stumble is just a feint because Ichigo suddenly laughs. Hollow-like and vaguely hair-raising. And he flashes out of existence. Kisuke gapes; he's only seen Ichigo do that a handful of times. Less than a second passes before Ichigo appears again, blocking Benihime's swing and countering with a stronger one of his own. Sending the sword spinning out of Kisuke's hands.

A moment of realization strikes him. Ichigo hadn't disappeared. He simply moved so quickly that it seemed as if he had. Like an advanced shunpo. Well, clearly Ichigo has only improved since the war. Kisuke is a little insulted that he hasn't bothered to share this tasty bit of info.

Nevertheless, that and all following thoughts are swept from Kisuke's mind the same second that Ichigo sweeps his legs out from under him. Effectively knocking Kisuke from his feet. His back hits the ground mere seconds after he hears Benihime clatter across the dirt some far distance away. She gives an outraged cry, a sulking sniff, before he is suddenly beset by a black-clothed figure, pressing a naked blade to his throat. It's close enough that when Kisuke swallows, he can feel the thin and sharp edge bite into his skin. It'd be safer for him to be afraid. But Kisuke can't stop his heart from thudding, his pupils dilating in pure arousal.

Ichigo, like this, is intoxicating. Bathed in power and confidence, Kisuke wants nothing more than to grab his lover and throw him to the ground. Bury his tongue in Ichigo's mouth and his fingers in Ichigo's hair. He wants to taste him and be tasted in return.

Arousal floods his body, and Kisuke _hungers_. Never before has he considered sparring foreplay until now.

Leaning over him, Ichigo reaches up and rips away his mask. Tossing the crumbling remnants of it to the side.

"Yield?" he asks, licking his lips.

Kisuke's unsure if he wants to concede defeat. Or be defiant just to see what Ichigo might do. He's not defenseless, after all. There are a number of second division moves hovering in the back of his skull. Or really interesting kidoh that Tessai has taught him.

"What's in it for me?" Kisuke questions mildly, hands twitching against the sandy ground as he debates a course of action.

Ichigo chuckles, leaning closer, eyes still carrying a hint of Hollow. In fact, Shirosaki is still present in his reiatsu. Rising over Kisuke and blanketing him in a layer of warm, tingling power. Zangetsu doesn't shift in his grip, Ichigo perfectly in control. Barely sweating, barely winded.

"Are you after a reward, Kisuke?"

"I think of it more as… _incentive_ ," the blond returns, nostrils flaring at the smell of Ichigo. A mix of cologne and reiatsu.

No matter what anyone thinks, Kisuke has always thought reiatsu to have a scent. Byakuya-bo has always smelled of cherry blossoms. Yoruichi of fur and spice. Ukitake of rainstorms. Shinji of limes and scorched popcorn. And Ichigo like twilight and rain with the metallic undertone that all the Vizard have. Sharp and enthralling.

Ichigo, a smirk twisting his mouth, leans closer. His lips ghost over Kisuke's before he moves lower. Zangetsu shifts back just enough that the blade is no longer a direct threat. Ichigo's eyes gleam mischievously, and Kisuke feels his breath catch in anticipation. The warmth of Ichigo's exhale sizzles over his body before a wet tongue laps across the sensitive flesh of his throat, catching the outer edge of blood. Grey eyes shutter closed of their own accord as Kisuke moans, shivers dancing up and down his spine. He throbs in his pants. And clearly, Ichigo is feeling much the same, judging by the hardness pressed against his lower abdomen.

"And you call me the pervert," Kisuke comments huskily, Ichigo's tongue swiping over his throat and lapping up a few drops of blood.

Eyes gleam at him. An intriguing mix of gold and brown and black that Kisuke hasn't seen for several years now – not since the war.

"I just wanted a taste," Ichigo murmurs, and Kisuke isn't sure that it's just Ichigo in there.

His head tips back, baring more of his throat. "Feeling a little lonely, are we?" Kisuke asks, meeting those eyes evenly.

Ichigo chuckles, voice deeper than in his completely human form. "Just curious," he murmurs and brings his mouth up for another kiss.

Kisuke moans as Ichigo's lips fall over his, tongue sliding into his mouth and seeking to dominate, to control. Heart thudding in his chest, arousal surges through the former captain's veins, his arousal thickening in his pants. His hands slither up, grabbing onto the loose fabric of Ichigo's borrowed haori. Fighting the urge to pull Ichigo down.

Teeth nip at Kisuke's mouth, the kiss deepening. Until Kisuke feels it gentle, each press of Ichigo's lips soft and sweet. As if Shirosaki's influence has slowly seeped away, leaving behind Ichigo as Kisuke knows him.

His lover draws back, and Zangetsu moves with him. The blade leaves Kisuke's throat only to sink into the ground next to his head.

"I think someone has a crush," Ichigo remarks, licking his lips thoughtfully. He's grinning now. Eyes bright and alive as he sniggers to himself.

Frankly, he's looking enormously better than he has in the last few months. He obviously needs this kind of freedom.

"Oh?" Kisuke takes the opportunity to pull the tie on Ichigo's haori and slide under the fabric over firm and muscled flesh. There's a light sheen of sweat on Ichigo's skin as he moves over a rippled abdomen.

Ichigo laughs again, hands planted into the dirt on either side of Kisuke's shoulders as he leans closer. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He hovers over Kisuke like a predator having caught his prey. "If I let him loose and ravage you to his heart's content. You'd beg and squirm for him, wouldn't you?"

Kisuke's face warms as he blinks in mock surprise. Unable to deny the clenching in his stomach at the thought of a completely possessive and demanding Ichigo.

"Who are you and what've you done to my innocent, shy Kurosaki-kun?"

"I buried him in Hueco Mundo's desert," Ichigo whispers roughly and covers Kisuke's mouth with his own for a hot, rough kiss that tastes of power.

Reiatsu spikes in the air, rolling over both of them like a tangible presence. It tickles at Kisuke's skin. His own rises up to greet Ichigo's, two blankets of power meeting and intertwining on the outer edges. _Intoxicating._

Kisuke moans into the kiss, gripping Ichigo and digging into his flesh. Arousal is a pressing need, and he rocks his hips upwards. Pleased when Ichigo presses himself down in the same motion and their bodies connect. Heat, glorious heat sings through Kisuke's veins as his hips dance in an age-old rhythm.

Kisuke _wants_. He doesn't care how, when, or where. He just _wants_ , and he shows that want by aggressively kissing Ichigo in return and pulling his lover down on top of him. He hears a groan of matching lust echo in Ichigo's throat as a hand tangles in blond hair and pulls his head back, baring his marked throat.

The cut is thin, and the bleeding has already stopped, but feeling Ichigo's tongue trace around is a sharp sting that coils in Kisuke's belly. He breathes out a noise that could be Ichigo's name. Or maybe it's just nonsense. Kisuke's past the point of caring.

"We should spar more often," Kisuke says… or pants rather as Ichigo nibbles on his collarbone and sucks up a large, red mark. "If it makes you react like this."

Fingers massage his scalp as Ichigo rocks against him. "You'd do anything to get laid," he mutters, pulling open Kisuke's haori as he noses downwards and latches teeth and lips on Kisuke's nipple.

Kisuke groans. "Almost anything," he corrects and slides a hand around Ichigo's side, touch encountering a smear of wetness. One of his attacks must have gone through at some point. "Though sand and dirt do not make for a comfortable bed."

A tongue traces Kisuke's nipple, briefly flickering over the peaked bud. "You've gotten boring on me," Ichigo teases.

Indignant, the ex-captain rolls his eyes. "Why? Because I'd rather that we take this to the warmth of the spring rather than the rock that's digging into my ass?"

Ichigo chuckles and rises upwards. The darkness in his eyes is completely gone, replaced by lust and good humor.

"A rock? Well, we can't have that. It's invading on my property."

Kisuke blinks at what was obviously a dirty joke on Ichigo's part, surprised that Ichigo could make it. Well, his one-time student is just _full_ of surprises today, isn't he?

"Since when have I been claimed?" Kisuke retorts good-naturedly.

Ichigo rises to his feet and hovers over him, reaching down to pull the shopkeeper to his feet. Kisuke's head spins at the abrupt shift to standing and then feels a warm touch brush across his throat.

"Didn't you feel my mark?" Ichigo returns gamely and cocks his head to the side, brown eyes deep and dark. The front of his borrowed hakama barely loose enough to conceal his eager arousal. "Maybe you need another one."

Kisuke can't help but wonder how much of this might be the Hollow's influence. "Only if I can mark you in return," he purrs and drags his tongue over his lips pointedly.

Ichigo laughs, actually laughs, and curls his fingers around Kisuke's wrists. "You were saying something about being too dainty to lie on the ground?" He tugs Kisuke in the direction of what the blond assumes to be the healing spring.

Kisuke snorts and refuses to dignify that with an answer.

A few flashes of shunpo and the two stand before a steaming pool of water, the smell of minerals tingling at Kisuke's nose. He sniffs pointedly – his own special mix of healing properties along with something a bit unique. Hachi's contribution perhaps? _Interesting_. Kisuke considers taking a small sample. Just to see if he could isolate the compounds without having to ask Shinji and the others what they may have added.

But then, Ichigo starts to shed clothing and Kisuke's thoughts plummet far from science and straight into outright lust. And Ichigo, as if knowing he's being watched, slowly peels away each layer. Revealing stretches of tanned skin, muscled limbs, scars tracing over his flesh. The flattened discs of his nipples. The jutting prominence of his length.

"You're staring," Ichigo comments as he steps out of his borrowed hakama, leaving himself fully nude.

Kisuke swallows. "You're putting on a show. It's only polite."

Ichigo smirks as he steps into the water. Hissing a little at the outright warmth of it.

"And you're overdressed for bathing."

Kisuke doesn't have to be told twice. He all but throws his clothes off, only setting Benihime to the side with any care, and slips into the water. Warmth encloses his lower limbs. He can feel the healing properties teasing at his open wounds, tickling and tingling. It's like a thousand tiny fingers are pressing at his skin, and it's not exactly a bad feeling.

"Hmm." Kisuke stares into the clear water. "Interesting. I wonder what Hachi puts it in it that's different from what I use."

Ichigo chuckles. "I figured the scientist in you couldn't help but be curious." Amusement thick in his tone, Ichigo wades toward him. "But I seem to remember leaving off in the middle of something important."

"So do I, my dear," Kisuke murmurs and grabs Ichigo's arm, dragging him in for a kiss.

Their bodies press together in the same moment that their mouths meet. Kisuke groans into the kiss, their tongues tangling together sloppily. Ichigo winds an arm around his body, pulling the blond tighter against him. Kisuke drags eager hands down Ichigo's back and strokes places he's come to learn so well. The water laps at their bodies, just under the tops of Kisuke's thighs. He presses against Ichigo, their groins perfectly aligned and the solid flesh of their cocks rubbing teasingly together.

His tongue slides against another, twisting and turning. They kiss open-mouthed and hungry, Kisuke nibbling on Ichigo's bottom lip as he grinds against him. Another hand slides around the blond's back. Two palms flat and groping, and heat sizzles between them, desire coiling in Kisuke's belly like a serpent waiting to strike. Ichigo is pressed so tightly against him he can feel the rise and fall of the Vizard's breathing, and his reiatsu is so charged that it's sizzling in the air. Coiling with Kisuke's own until he can taste Ichigo's power on his lips.

It's a heady sensation.

Ichigo slides a hand across the curve of Kisuke's buttocks, only to slip a finger down the crease. Kisuke shivers and fights back a groan. Ichigo's touch ghosts down deeper. Lightly at first but then with purpose.

Teeth and lips nibble across Kisuke's chin. "Can I?" Ichigo asks, circling him but going no further.

Anticipation sends goosebumps across the other man's skin, despite the palpable heat. "Shouldn't the student allow the master the first taste?"

But it's difficult to get the words out, what with lust trying to swallow him whole. So _bold_. It makes Kisuke moan.

Ichigo's finger continues to rub. "Or maybe it's the student's chance to show how much he's learned. Ne, _sensei_?"

And damn but the ex-captain can only imagine the snide comment Aizen would make if he could see Kisuke's reaction to Ichigo purring his title like that.

"And how much do you think you've learned, Kurosaki-kun?" he returns, hands sliding across Ichigo's back, tracing scars. So many that Kisuke's not certain he's mapped them all.

Ichigo seems vaguely amused. "Once upon a time, there was a man. And this man was concerned his bestest buddy would screw things up with everybody's favorite Vizard. So he pulls aside said Vizard, gives him a cup of sake, and proceeds to give step-by-step instructions to the poor, horrified hero. Complete with illustrations. Very accurate illustrations."

Kisuke is unable to resist the urge to laugh. "He _didn't_."

"He did." Ichigo nods in confirmation. "I've never been much of a drinker, but that day, I had the whole damn jug." He rolls his hips forward, as though reminding Kisuke that they have much better things to focus on then old stories.

"Then I guess I don't need to explain much of anything, do I?"

"Not a damn thing," Ichigo agrees and kisses him again, grinding their naked bodies together. He nibbles across Kisuke's jaw and murmurs in his ear. "I want you."

Any protest he may have felt, vanishes instantly. Kisuke shivers.

"Nothing's stopping you."

And no, Kisuke doesn't even have to think about it. No, he doesn't have to argue with himself or some silly sense of pride. If Ichigo asks, Kisuke is willing. That's all there is to it.

Ichigo grins and suddenly turns, whirling Kisuke to face the edge of the pool. His hands snap out, landing against the edge and holding him in place. Fingers drag down the blond's back with purpose, curling around his hips. Ichigo's weight is warm and present as he presses against Kisuke from behind. The two of them are nearly the same height, and their bodies aligned perfectly.

"Pervert that you are, I know that you have something I can use," Ichigo says huskily as the water makes him slide across Kisuke's body. He leans forward, lips and teeth latching onto a shoulder, applying delicious pressure with a low edge of pain.

Groaning as lust seeks to override all sense of logic, Kisuke leans forward. Snagging his pants and dragging them towards him. What had he been thinking when shoving the lube in his pocket earlier? Wishful thoughts perhaps? In this moment, Kisuke's so damn glad he's as much the pervert as everyone accuses him of being.

He twists his body so that he can briefly face Ichigo. "Will this work?"

Kisuke wiggles the tube pointedly. It's an unmarked, plain packet. However, Kisuke doesn't need a label to know what's in it. And apparently, neither does Ichigo.

Ichigo snags it and kisses him in the same breath. "It's perfect."

Kisuke shivers as he turns back around, hands balanced on the edge of the pool. He feels Ichigo trace a hand down his back, fingertips dragging down his spine. Anticipation is thick in the air. And then, slick fingers prod between his cheeks, a lubed digit pressing against his puckered ring and circling it gently.

"I've thought about this," Ichigo says huskily, voice warm on Kisuke's skin as his tongue curls around his ear. A finger pushes in, and the blond forces himself to relax as Ichigo continues, "Several times. Wondering what it would be like. Imagining it."

Kisuke's eyes slip closed. Who knew that Ichigo could be like this? Voice and words like verbal porn in his ears.

That single finger pushes inside slowly, carefully. Twisting and turning. Crooking and rubbing. Before it withdraws and is joined by another. Curving just right to press against that special spot that makes Kisuke grit his teeth and fight down an unmanly whimper. His hips jerk backwards of their own accord, encouraging and begging without words.

"I wondered how you'd react. If you'd try and take control or let me have it," the Vizard continues. Accompanying each lust-filled statement with a twisting, thrust of his fingers. "If you'd whimper or moan or-"

"Holy hell, Ichigo."

Kisuke is a coil of want, need, _now_. All of it bursting through his belly and his groin. He's leaking every-goddamn-where, and all he wants is for Ichigo to replace those fingers with something larger.

"Who taught you to talk like that?"

Ichigo shakes his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He nibbles Kisuke's ear, fingers prodding deliciously, so much that the blond can't even feel the dull throb of muscles that haven't stretched this way for years. Decades even.

"Why? Is it turning you on?"

"If I answer yes, are you just going to keep teasing me?"

"Oh? Is that what you think I'm doing?" Ichigo rubs the side of his face against Kisuke's own, much like a cat would.

"If not, then you're certainly taking your time," Kisuke mutters. Fighting the urge to whirl around and turn the tables. To pin Ichigo beneath him and take what his body wants so badly. To watch the flush spread across tan skin and pure ecstasy dance across his face.

In answer, Ichigo curls his fingers inside him. Making Kisuke surge forward, heat shooting through his body.

"See? I knew you'd be a pushy bottom."

"Ichigo!" Kisuke gasps in mock horror.

Chuckling, Ichigo pulls his fingers back. Kisuke hears the unmistakable sound of lube sliding over rigid flesh.

"What?" he asks with pretend innocence. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"

Hands fall on Kisuke's hips, and anticipation floods through his veins. Ichigo presses up against him, rigidness sliding across his skin and teasing at his entrance.

"Something like that," Kisuke gasps, and his fingers scrape the rocks. He glances back, exhale stuttering at the sight of fire burning in Ichigo's eyes. "But don't think I can't take whatever you give me."

"Is that a challenge?"

Kisuke's tongue drags over his lips. Incensed by the husky tone that has completely taken over Ichigo's voice.

"Or a pleasant suggestion, my dear. Take it as you will."

"I'd rather take you," Ichigo practically purrs.

And before he can be astonished by the sexual creature his former student has become, Ichigo pushes into him. Slow and thick and hot. Kisuke moans, shoulders hunching as he feels himself stretch around the intrusion. Feels his body clench and unclench, expand and contract. Ichigo pants behind him, breath stuttering as his fingers flex in their grip. But it's nothing like the sensation that overwhelms Kisuke.

There's pain at first because it's been quite some time. A sharp sting that makes him grit his teeth. But it's quickly overrun by the feel of Ichigo inside of him, pushing slowly but carefully. Until he's fully seated and pausing to give Kisuke a chance to adjust. For all his posturing, he needs it. Needs a moment to catch his breath. To remember the odd feeling of another person entering his body and relishing that closeness.

He hears Ichigo suck in a breath, feels his forehead hit Kisuke's back just between his shoulder blades. Ichigo mutters something that he can't quite catch, but it doesn't seem important. He just drags his bottom lip into his mouth. Chews on it for a minute. And then decides he's had enough of waiting. He shifts his hips backwards, grinding himself against Ichigo.

"Ichigo," Kisuke breathes, as close to begging as he'll ever get. " _Move_."

"You say that like it's easy," Ichigo argues, sounding strained.

But Kisuke feels him withdraw slowly. Only to thrust back in again, a little faster this time, a little deeper. And the blond feels like it pushes the air right out of him as pleasure shoots through his veins in radiating bursts of need, need, _need_.

He can feel Ichigo's breathing against his sweat-covered back. And it's quick and eager. One hand leaves Kisuke's side, curling around his waist, pulling him back against Ichigo as the Vizard snaps his hips. A rhythm is established. One that leaves Kisuke panting for more as Ichigo moves in and out of him, hard and throbbing.

"Damn," Ichigo says and rubs his cheek against Kisuke's back. Then, his chin hooks on the blond's shoulder, digging in. "Damn, damn, _damn_."

"So… eloquent," Kisuke teases. But it's little more than a sharp gasp as his own motions take on a ragged rocking, seeking more and more.

Water sloshes around their bodies. Lapping at their upper thighs, warm and tingling. Kisuke hears noises and belatedly realizes that the embarrassing sounds are falling from his own mouth. A mixture of whimper and moan that resembles begging too much for his pride. And the very last word on his mind is "stop", better replaced by "more" and "harder" and "please, please, _please_."

Loosing one hand from the edge, Kisuke slips fingers around his own aching arousal. He's harder than a rock and knows it won't take long. He's too worked up, too hot already. He can feel the pounding of his heart through the pulse in his length, and he's leaking everywhere. So much on his fingers he doesn't need to find the mysteriously disappeared tube of lube to make things easier.

Another hand snakes around his body, fingers joining Kisuke's own. Ichigo strokes him as he pushes faster and faster inside. The pain is long gone, replaced by sheer pleasure that blurs the rest of the world. There's nothing but the feel of Ichigo's hand on him, the warm pant of his breathing, and the pleasure that strikes through Kisuke in rapid staccato.

He is the first to fall over the edge, curling forward and crying out as his release is as much pulled from him as it is allowed. He spills over their combined grip, body shaking and thrumming as white-hot fire dances through his veins. Kisuke gasps, drowning in pleasure. And feels Ichigo manage a few more thrusts before he groans, mouth latching on the back of a shoulder, strong enough to leave the impression of teeth.

Kisuke sags forward, elbow digging into rock as Ichigo drapes across his back. He's peppering kisses across the blond's shoulders, fingers flexing where they press against his abdomen. Drawing in several deep breaths, Kisuke looses his hold on his softened length and drags Ichigo's hand to his lips. He places several of his own kisses over one finger and then another. The scent of the pool's minerals and his own release clings muskily to their combined hands.

Ichigo stirs, slipping from Kisuke's grasp to lift the blond's chin. Gently, he turns his lover to face him. They kiss sloppily over Kisuke's shoulder, water still lapping at their thighs.

Nipping at Kisuke's lips, Ichigo ends the kiss with a grin. "Well, how did I score on my final, _sensei_?"

Kisuke chuckles and drags his tongue over that mouth. "I'd say you passed the class," he teases. Though by the thrumming in his body, Ichigo more than passed; he scored full marks and extra credit. "Someday, you're going to have to tell me just what Shunsui taught you."

Ichigo breaks into full on laughter. Enough that his body shakes where it's still curled around Kisuke. He presses a kiss to the back of Kisuke's neck, soft and infinitely gentle. He draws away, allowing Kisuke room to turn around and breathe.

"I'm pretty sure I just showed you," he whispers in a tone that is all too playful.

"The dirty talk was new."

Ichigo backs up against the other end of the small pool. He briefly ducks his head under the water and runs his hands through his hair. Which makes it spike up oddly.

"That's another secret I'm going to keep," he says, rather pleased.

Rolling his eyes, Kisuke leans against the edge and sinks lower into the water. Letting the heat and warmth enclose about his lower body. Ichigo's sniggering quietly, but the blond lets that slide. It feels so peaceful now, and he feels rather indolent, his entire body slowly descending from its pleasure-high. And water splashes briefly as Ichigo stretches.

"You're taking this better than I expected," he says casually.

Kisuke stirs from his languid stupor and blinks. "What? Your sudden aggression?" he questions with a leer that can't be hidden.

"No." Ichigo shakes his head. "My decision to accept some of Aizen's goals."

The gentle calm shatters with mention of his hated enemy.

"Oh."

Kisuke considers his response. He doesn't want to alienate Ichigo, especially when the Vizard is clearly looking for something here.

"I mean, I'm still expecting you to rant and rave about how he's just manipulating me into his own end," Ichigo continues, waving one hand vaguely. "Or to try and convince me otherwise."

Kisuke manages a thin smile. "I've learned not to try and change your mind once you've made it, Ichigo. You're rather stubborn."

One orangish brow lifts. "Is that your answer?"

"No." He shakes his head and tries to make his sluggish limbs cooperate. "I told you this before. Whatever you decide, I'll still be here. I'll support you."

"Even if it is to Aizen's benefit?"

Kisuke realizes a bit belatedly that Ichigo is baiting him. Waiting to see his true reaction rather than one carefully planned.

"Even if," Kisuke confirms.

And he looks at Ichigo, forces those brown eyes to meet his fully. To convey his honest intentions.

"I trust you with my life. Is it difficult to believe that I would trust you in everything else?"

Those are his heartfelt words, and he feels vulnerable spilling them here, but they are also what Ichigo needs to hear. Words that Kisuke has been keeping close to his chest but not anymore. They belong to Ichigo as much as they belong to him.

"No. No, it isn't," Ichigo responds, his voice quiet. Contemplative. He moves forward, crossing the distance between them. "It seems only fair. Since I trust you, too."

One wet hand lifts, cupping Kisuke's face as he leans in for a kiss. A kiss that helps to shield the guilty cast that briefly invades the blond's expression.

Ichigo trusts him. And yet, Kisuke hasn't managed to give him the full truth. Hasn't managed to tell his lover all the little white lies that Kisuke has kept for Isshin. Hasn't managed to explain the truth about Yoruichi or all the deep-seeded reasons as to why he _really_ loathes Aizen Sousuke. Ichigo, as always, has given all of himself. And what has Kisuke given? Nothing that really matters, nothing that counts. Nothing that Ichigo deserves and Kisuke's too scared to hand over.

The kiss ends. Ichigo briefly presses their foreheads together, looking straight into Kisuke's eyes. Allowing their noses to brush.

"Thanks for not making this difficult," he murmurs and draws back, only to pull himself free of the water.

For a moment, he stands there in all his nude and dripping splendor. Making Kisuke's mouth go dry at the sight. And then Ichigo gathers up his clothes and steps back into them again.

"Isn't that just going to make you dirty again?" Kisuke comments mildly. Fighting down the rising guilt. Trying to appear normal and not like he's just stabbed himself in the chest.

Ichigo grins, cocky and sure. More himself now than he has been in the past couple months or so.

"I'm not old like you. I don't need a nap. I'm going to go see if I can persuade someone else to spar with me. Maybe Shinji'll be up for it. Or Nel."

Kisuke rolls his eyes, pretending indignation. "I'm not old," he retorts and leans back against the rocks. "I just prefer to save my energy."

"Semantics," Ichigo shoots back and snatches Zangetsu from the ground, returning his zanpakutou to its rightful place. "Later."

He's gone in a flash of shunpo and power, leaving his lover to stew in the hot spring and his own guilt. Kisuke closes his eyes, leans his head back, and breathes out slowly. Carefully. He has to tell Ichigo. But that would mean betraying Isshin. But Ichigo's his lover. Ichigo deserves his loyalty more. But it's not his secret to betray. The others are, and the blond is free to give them when he wishes. But it's only this particular secret – the truth about Isshin – that could hurt Ichigo the most. And it's the one that he truly needs to hear, too.

"Wow. Ya really must be old if yer thinkin' of takin' a nap here," a voice comments. So very amused.

His eyes snap open, and he catches sight of Shinji. Who is just standing there on the other side of the water, his expression entirely unreadable.

"How long have you been there?" Kisuke demands, unashamed of his nudity but wondering what else he might've seen.

Shinji's lips break into a wide grin. "Long enough," he purrs and strokes a finger over his chin. "Our little Ichigo's grown up _so_ well. Not so innocent anymore, is he?"

Despite himself, Kisuke can't control the rampant heat that floods his cheeks. "So now you know."

"Ki-chan, I knew before I ever got ta see the proof for myself," Shinji retorts and circles the edge of the hot spring until he crouches right next to him. "Ya were so painfully obvious even _Hiyori_ noticed. I honestly wondered if ya and Jyuushiro were gonna have ta duke it out over him, but he seems ta have permanently bowed out."

Kisuke groans. "Wonderful," he mutters and makes motions to draw himself out of the water.

It's great for the dull ache in his lower back, but it's never safe to be openly nude around Shinji for long. Much less Lisa, who might molest him. Or Hiyori, who will do something decidedly less pleasant.

Propping his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee, Shinji watches him steadily. Eerily almost. As if he can see right into Kisuke's head and knows exactly what he's thinking.

"Ya know, Ki-chan, it makes a guy wonder."

"What does?" Kisuke questions, dragging his pants closer before sliding out of the water. He'll change when he gets upstairs.

"Ya and our precious Kurosaki Ichigo." Shinji is looking up at him now since Kisuke is standing, but the intenseness behind his gaze hasn't faded. "It makes a guy wonder if ya know what you're doing. If ya _really_ know what ya want."

Kisuke stills in the midst of tightening a tie. "What are you saying?" he asks tightly. "That this is just a fling for me? You think I'd do something like that?"

"Ya've done it before."

"To people who didn't matter!" Kisuke argues, and he knows that part of it is his own guilt rising up to swallow him whole. "Ichigo's different. He's not just temporary. He's…"

But he trails off, unable to find the proper words.

"He's Ichigo, and that's why I'm concerned." Shinji's eyes narrow. "He's not a kid, Kisuke. But he's still awfully damn young. And he doesn't know nearly enough about ya or what ya used ta do for a living. He doesn't know any of that. No one's told him. No one ever does. How do you think he's gonna respond when he finds out?"

"Do you know something I don't?" Kisuke can't fight his rising paranoia. His worry.

Shaking his head, Shinji rises to his feet with his usual lackadaisical grace. "Nope. Just a feelin' I get sometimes. A sense of impending doom ya could say." He tilts his head to the side, blond strands slipping across his face. "And Yoruichi?"

Kisuke stutters and swallows thickly. There's a dull ache inside of him where Yoruichi's smile and presence used to be. But it's fading. More and more each day. Replaced by brown eyes, scowls, and a sense of understanding no one else could ever duplicate. By the taste of his skin and the press of his reiatsu and waking up to warmth curled around him. By companionship and ease and sometimes even laughter.

"She's the past," he replies quietly, tying his shirt closed and scooping Benihime off the ground. "She's made that pretty damn clear, and even if she hadn't…" He pauses, trying to formulate the right words. "I want to be with Ichigo. That's all there is to it."

"Are ya sure?"

And there's something to the way Shinji says. Something about the tone.

Kisuke twists his jaw. "Yes," he insists. "I'm not an idiot. I know what I'm doing."

Shrugging, the older man spreads his palms in a gesture of conciliation. "Just making sure, Kisuke. 'Cause if ya break his heart, I know about a dozen people who'll line up ta kick your ass, and I don't think I'll stop them. I'll probably be the first in line. Maybe the second after Ichigo himself. Or possibly Byakuya-bo." One hand disappears into his pocket before he pulls out a folded sheet of paper. "This came this morning."

"What is it?" Kisuke asks, reaching for the document.

Shinji flips the paper away from his fingers, as though playing a childish game of keep away. "A letter. From Yoruichi for ya."

"How'd she know to send it here?"

The Vizard rolls his eyes. "Her ways are many and mysterious," he says with a drawl. "Of course, it might've been that I told her I was bringin' ya here. But what do I know? I'm not a psychic."

Sometimes, Shinji can be so damn _impossible._

Kisuke bites back a sigh. "Are you going to let me read it?"

"I wasn't going to, but now, I think I will." Shinji snaps the paper in Kisuke's direction. "Soul Society's gearing up for something. She's not sure what yet, but you'll read all about that. In any case, things are gonna get really tense, really fast."

"We're prepared for that," Kisuke says, unfolding the familiar stationary and easily identifying Yoruichi's uneven scrawl. "Ichigo's made his choice. I'm just here to make it happen."

"Good." Shinji nods, planting his hands on his hips as though it had been his idea all along. "That's what I wanted ta hear. I wasn't sure, considering your animosity towards Sousuke, but as long as yer supportin' Ichigo, then that's all that matters."

The younger man snorts. "What's more confusing is your ability to treat him as though he's merely a prodigal son returned home," he mutters.

"I have my reasons. Just like ya have yours," Shinji defends. "Besides, you're not the only one who lost something in that war," he says sharply, forcing Kisuke to look at him. "And I'm starting to think that your hatred of him has less ta do with the past and more ta do with the present."

Kisuke scowls at that. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the genius. Ya figure it out." The Vizard turns away, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Read your letter, Ki-chan. And remember, dinner's at eight! It's Mexican night."

Shinji's laughter echoes behind him as he slips into shunpo. Heading for the entrance and obviously intending for their conversation to be over.

Well, it's certainly nice to see that Shinji has apparently not changed.

Irritation at the back of his mind like a twitch he can't be rid of, Kisuke shakes his head and focuses on his letter. If it's about Soul Society's movements, then he needs to know. As will Ichigo. Among other things that Kisuke needs to tell him. Secrets and truths. Truths and secrets. They always come back to haunt him.


	23. Remembrance

Hirako Shinji has quickly become a pain in his proverbial ass.

If there is any reason that Sousuke misses the cramped quarters of Urahara's hovel and having to listen to the shopkeeper and Ichigo-kun engage in their relations at all hours of the night, it is the fact that Hirako has taken to following him around as though they are long-lost brothers recently reunited. Hirako is there every time he turns around. There with a grin or a hug or a teasing word. So close that Sousuke nearly trips on him.

He can hardly breathe with the man's suffocating presence. It's bad enough that he has to share quarters with his former captain, but he has to endure Hirako's strangely suffocating attention outside of the room as well. It doesn't help that the other Vizard openly avoid Sousuke. Not that he minds as it leaves him without having to engage their less than sane personalities.

At least in Urahara's small house, Sousuke had only one hateful personality to contend with. And Urahara has never been much of a threat. Sousuke can handle him with a few well-placed barbs and insinuating remarks. But now, he's surrounded by… well, _enemies_ is the closest approximation he can find. And it makes him twitchy. Ichigo-kun and perhaps Hirako – if the blond isn't in the midst of one of his mind games and only pretending to be so damn glad to see him – are the only ones Sousuke trusts not to stab him in the back. Or the front, for that matter.

That leaves him surrounded by over a half-dozen possible assassins in a very close and confined space. He thought he had troubles sleeping in that tiny bungalow? Well, Sousuke has had to rethink his measurement of stress. It now goes by the name of Hirako Shinji.

He just doesn't know what his ex-captain is thinking. Behind that shark-like grin and clingy behavior is an intelligent man. Of sorts. Sousuke is not fooled by Hirako's flippant manner and teasing. Hirako wouldn't have made it as a captain if he were a complete idiot. And he wouldn't have survived this long if he were not a keen observer. No, Sousuke is certain that Hirako has some sort of plan, and not knowing what that is makes him even further on edge.

Urahara, at least, is _obvious_ in his hatred. Though thankfully encounters with him have been less and less here in the Vizard's hidden warehouse. No, Urahara has better things to do than bait Sousuke. Like bundle the other Vizard into his " _get rid of Aizen as soon as possible_ " plans. And apparently, christen every possible room, closet, _surface_ with Ichigo-kun every chance he gets.

Ichigo-kun.

Sousuke must admit. If there is one good reason that they have left the cramped bungalow, it is for the changes he has seen in Ichigo-kun. The boy doesn't look as trapped anymore. His eyes less resemble that of an injured and cornered animal. More like the confident, put-together fighter that Sousuke resembles. This freedom and space is good for him, and the other Vizard appear to bolster him as well.

And well, Sousuke must admit feeling just a tad smug that being here is a step in the right direction for his own ambitions. Ichigo-kun has admitted as much. That they will need help from the Vizard with Sousuke's plans to put Ichigo-kun on the throne. Which means, Ichigo-kun actually wants to attempt taking said throne. Thoughts such as these are what make Sousuke believe that this might actually be worth it in the end.

So long as he can survive Hirako Shinji.

Sighing, Sousuke peers around a corner, hating that it feels as if he's hiding from the boogeyman. But no, he's just trying to avoid the clinging presence of his former superior. The very same man who'd helped bring him down. The very same man who took Sousuke's powers from him.

Even now, years later, those memories are sharp and clear in his mind. As though it happened only yesterday.

_Blood. He feels it rattling in his lungs and dripping over his skin. His fingers twitch, but Kyouka Suigetsu is missing. He can feel her, hear her, but she's not in his grip. She's not in sight either._

_There's only the grassy slope of some unknown place far out in Rukongai. A place already splattered with blood and ash, streaked by destruction. Drizzled with white bits of broken Hollow masks. There's regret and sadness, horror that strikes through him._

_By the gods, Shunsui… by his own hands. He hadn't-_

_Sousuke's eyes slip closed and then open again._

_There's only him, kneeling in his defeat. And Hirako. Unohana-san. There are only two witnesses but more approaching. He can feel their reiatsu, such pitiful breadth compared to his own and the two Shinigami standing before him. But they all want to gloat anyway, because Soul Society won and Sousuke is defeated._

_He hurts. There's a hole in his mid-section. A gash in his thigh. His head is still bleeding. His arm is mangled. But he's not dead. Not yet. And he lacks the strength and energy to end it himself._

_Hirako stands there, and Sousuke can't tell if he plans to finish the job. Sousuke can't read the look in his eyes. Can only see the crimson splattered on the man's face, dripping from his zanpakutou, painting his clothes._

_Unohana-san, the only mother he's ever truly had, he can't read her face either. Such a mask. But there is no hatred. No utter loathing. Sadness perhaps. Sadness that can't and won't be easily eased. Her zanpakutou lacks the awful stench and color of blood, but her part hadn't been to attack. She suppressed his abilities, blocked his kidoh, leaving room for Hirako to be the sword. She was perhaps the only one with the skill to see through his illusions. She's had too much practice. Spent too much time seeing all the things he tried so hard to hide._

_Only these two stand over him, and he doesn't even have the strength to rise to his feet. It's all he can manage to stay upright. His gaze focused forward. He can't look behind him. He can't see the flutter of white and black and pink cloth, the piece of family that Sousuke has slain with his very own hands._

_More are approaching. Some that Sousuke can recognize. Kuchiki. Shihouin._ _**Urahara** _ _. And more than anything, he doesn't want the latter to touch him. To look at him or gloat over a victory that isn't his to claim. Even the Kurosaki boy is coming, one of the first. His movements sharp and powerful, tasting vaguely of Hollow._

_He looks up at Hirako, who hasn't lowered his blade. "What are you waiting for?" Sousuke asks, voice soft. Not broken but not demanding either. "You're losing your chance."_

" _To kill ya?" Hirako snorts, but Sousuke can see his fingers tightening around the hilt. "Somethin' tells me that's not how this should be played."_

" _There is the matter of justice," Unohana-san says gently, carefully, but her eyes are shadowed. They keep looking from Sousuke, to the body lying in the grass, and back again._

" _Justice?" Hirako barks out a laughter. "That wasn't what I was thinkin'. But yeah, sure. We'll go with that. Whatever Soul Society thinks is justice, let 'em have it."_

_Sousuke's fingers spasm. Kyouya Suigetsu is out of his reach. He thinks he can see her hilt on the ground several yards away. But he is not defenseless. He is still a master of kidoh. He still knows other tricks that would frighten even the strongest and wisest Shinigami. His fingers twitch again._

_And Hirako's eyes swivel back his direction. "I won't kill ya," he says, voice empty, dark, lacking emotion. Not anger or hatred or revenge. Just empty. "But I can't hand ya over ta them like this either. Not safely."_

" _Hirako-san?"_

_Hirako shakes his head He drags the flat of his blade over his arm and wipes most of the blood off on his sleeve._

" _Just a simple severance of his powers. Nothin' that'll bring him permanent harm, Retsu-san."_

_Sousuke feels his breath catch in his throat. Death… death he can live with. Ever since he began this, he has expected that end. But to have his power stripped from him. To have Kyouka Suigetsu taken from him… That is another story entirely. Better by this own hand than the fate they would give him._

_Strength, where it once failed him, surges into his limbs. His fingers clench and unclench, and incantations rise to the front of his mind, dancing on his tongue and his lips. He doesn't need to speak them. But Sousuke knows that they are so much stronger that way._

_Hirako's gaze flickers away from him for a moment. "Retsu-san?"_

_She steps forward, eyes so very sad. Looking at Sousuke as though he's her son. Just a lost boy that she's waiting to come home again._

" _I apologize, dear. But it must be done." She lifts her hands._

_And the binding spell wraps around Sousuke. Locking his arms to his sides, clamping his mouth shut, trapping him there. On his knees. He can only watch as Hirako approaches, head bowed. The wind whips around him and flutters his frayed tie. He's not smiling, not now, his fingers curled around Sakanade._

_Sousuke watches the blade come with eyes wide open. And as the zanpakutou pierces his chest, pushing through his very core, he hears Kyouka Suigetsu call out for him one last time. Her voice is high, thin, frightened. Then, she's gone. And he's overcome with a sense of loss so heavy that his back and shoulders bow under the pressure._

_It doesn't hurt. There's no pain. And when Hirako removes Sakanade, there's no wound to heal. Not even a blip of blood. But Sousuke can already feel things missing. The weight of reiatsu on the air hurts, like knives stabbing into his skin. He drags his lower lip into his mouth and bite down on it rather than crying out in pain. He wants to scream._

_Defeat... defeat he can stomach. But this! This is more than defeat. This is torture. This is death in every sense of the word. There's no returning from this._

_None. None at all._

Sousuke slides out of the memory with lingering traces of agony rippling through him. Had he any reiatsu, it would be wild and frazzled, crashing at the bonds of his control. But no, as he is, the worst thing that happens is the frantic beating of his heart and the twisted look on his face.

He peers down the empty hallway, sees no sign of anyone much less his former captain, and Sousuke slides into the corridor. He's hoping to find a place where Hirako won't look, where Sousuke can be alone for once and not tracked by several pairs of eyes. All of them convinced he's going to murder them in their sleep. As if he even could. Well, maybe if he went into the kitchen and used a knife, but Sousuke would like to think of himself as more sophisticated than that. Such a method would be beneath him. Perhaps not beneath Urahara but definitely beneath himself.

His room is no solace; he shares it with Hirako. Every other room is likely to be occupied by one Vizard or another. And while Sousuke could wander down to the basement, he has the feeling that Ichigo-kun is still down there, as he has been for the past few days. Blowing off steam, releasing pent-up energy, calling his Hollow, drawing his zanpakutou. All things that Sousuke is no longer capable of. Not to mention that where Ichigo-kun is, no doubt Urahara is as well.

This is what Sousuke has been reduced to. Wandering around, glancing over his shoulder, hiding from his ex-captain and others who might mean him arm. Though if anyone asked, Sousuke wasn't hiding. He was making a strategic exit.

He had once been powerful, nearly a god. And now, he was reduced to this.

_They let him stand. Sousuke is surprised to have been granted that much. They haven't even shackled his limbs. Why should they bother? He has no reiatsu. He can't even cast the simplest kidoh. He doesn't have Kyouka Suigetsu. All he has are years and years of martial arts training, but even they are useless. A simple binding spell, and Sousuke will be even more helpless than before._

_So Sousuke is allowed to stand as he is judged, surrounded by former allies and friends. Surrounded by his enemies. There are fewer here than he would expect. He would think that this would be a spectacle for all of Seireitei, all of Soul Society to witness. But no, it appears the new captain-commander Ukitake has some respect for the privacy of its greatest villain. Not even he wants to turn this into a parade. Into a joke or a show._

_Ukitake is here. As is Unohana-san for medical reasons. Kuchiki to represent the nobles. Hitsugaya, looking battered and bruised. Bandaged and far, far older than he used to be._

_Hirako is noticeable for his absence. Sousuke wonders if the Vizard weren't allowed to serve as witnesses. Or if Soul Society's justice had already forced their flight._

" _Aizen Sousuke."_

_He doesn't flinch, doesn't hardly blink as Ukitake calls his attention. Sousuke looks at the new captain-commander, face pinched with fatigue and sorrow. No, Sousuke hasn't forgotten. Sousuke knows what grief tears apart Ukitake. He looks at Sousuke and no longer sees a boy. He sees a murderer. One who has killed his own uncle, the man who was a father to him. Sousuke sees the same thing now; he doesn't need anyone else to tell him that truth._

" _You have been accused, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death by lethal injection," Ukitake continues, voice soft and commanding, yet lacking that air of total obedience that Yamamoto always carried. "Chamber 46 advises that I deny your final word, but I am not in accord with their advisement. Do you have anything you wish to say?"_

_Sousuke can't help it; he laughs. Low and bitter._

" _You are Shinigami, and yet, you think death is the end. You may kill me, but you can't kill the truth of my intentions. Soul Society is dying with or without my war. Someday, you'll see that, and you will see that I was right."_

_Ukitake flinches. Sousuke knows he sees the truth. That Ukitake knows the truth. But he will never admit it. Hitsugaya hisses, hands pulling into fists. Kuchiki is silent, solid. He might as well be carved from stone as much reaction as he shows, save for the subtle flicker in his eyes. The tightening that says without words something that Sousuke has long suspected. That Kuchiki isn't nearly as certain of himself or this place as he appears._

" _Are those your final words?" Ukitake finally manages._

" _My actions have always spoken for themselves," Aizen says and stares at Ukitake, refusing to close his eyes in the face of death._

_He was once Shinigami. He refuses to be afraid of something he had mastered. Death is neither the beginning nor the end; it is a reset button. And they all damn well know it. They've already taken Kyouka Suigetsu from him. Death is nothing. And Ukitake and Unohana-san won't allow them to extinguish him fully. To erase his soul as if it never even was._

_Ukitake looks at him – regret and sadness and guilt and sorrow – and shifts his gaze to Unohana-san standing at Sousuke's right. He nods once, a confirmation and returns his attention to their prisoner. As though he can't bear to look away. As though it's his duty to watch Sousuke's end like he watched over a small boy who used to play in his garden._

_Sousuke's not afraid. Not even when he is gently directed back towards a chair. The better to keep him from slumping undignified to the floor, he supposes. He meets the stares of his executioners evenly. Without flinching, aware of their hatred. Their anger. Their relief._

_Unohana-san's hands are gentle. As they always are. Her fingers warm and soft as she pushes his sleeve upwards, baring his skin to the chilly air. Sousuke forces himself to look in her eyes. Her face, like before, is unreadable. Yet, her eyes tell the tale. Of apology and sorrow, as though this hurts her far more than it will hurt him. There is so much that he could say, but he keeps his words to himself. He would not speak them in front of all these witnesses. But somehow, his silence says enough._

_He doesn't flinch when the needle pierces his skin. Or when he feels the potent chemical enter his bloodstream. Or the warmth that floods his arm, floods his body. He starts to feel fatigued, and Sousuke fights it. He fights for coherence to the last moment, letting a gaze full of clarity fall on each and every person in the room._

_Sousuke slides into darkness silently. A darkness that is surprisingly not cold. Rather, it is warm and gentle. Like a loving embrace. There are sounds in the far distance – voices, music, words – but he can't make them out. Like they are in the next room over and muffled by wood and concrete. He can't feel his limbs, can't feel much of anything. And he wonders if this is what death is supposed to be like. Just an endless nothing?_

_There is a low, dull thump. Not a sound but a feeling, something that vibrates across his skin rhythmically. Like the beat of a heart, slower and slower with each passing moment. But never quite stopping entirely._

_And then, the images start. Flickering in front of his eyes. Grainy like an old movie from the living world before the advent of modern film. They are in black and white, out of order. The past and then the present and then the Academy and then Hueco Mundo and then his time in the fifth division followed by the thirteenth. It's like he's floating through each image of the past, watching without sound, remembering strongly or faintly depending on the situation._

_Sousuke floats and watches and grieves. And on one occasion, he even laughs. He remembers and reminds himself of all the reasons he had chosen to try and become god._

_He sees Kouichi. Laughing, smiling, grinning. More than a friend but a brother. Only a real brother and not the creature that Sousuke has to claim by blood._

_He sees Shunsui, alive and whole and trying to drag his nose-stuffed-in-a-book younger self out into the world. More a father than Yoshio ever was._

_He sees Unohana-san, smiling gently as she dabs ointment on his face. Never believing his story of those damn tricky stairs for a minute. Her eyes are blue, the same shade as those of her son. Shining with concern. With anger. With a determination to protect._

" _Sousuke?"_

_Someone calls his name. It's the first actually audible thing that he's picked up. It's more than a murmur or muffled noise._

" _Sousuke?"_

_He stirs, feels his fingers and toes tingle, feels them wiggle. It's the first time he's moved since floating in the black. The images are fading, less grainy, less black and white. Now drifting away like smoke on the wind._

" _Sousuke!"_

_His eyes snap open as his name echoes around the small room, and he feels warm, gentle fingers on his face. The world is blurry, but his nose still works. Antiseptic, herbs, molasses. Above him is a black and blue blur. And beyond it, a bright light that makes him wince. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. Little more than a whimper, like his voice has stopped working._

" _Thank the gods," a familiar voice whispers. "I worried I'd given you too much."_

_Sousuke knows that voice. He knows that scent. He knows where he is. Why isn't he dead? He should be dead. The Shinigami have killed him. He remembers the prick of the needle and the warmth of the poison. But he's not dead._

_He works his jaw. Forces sound out through his throat. Feeling as if gears are shifting that haven't worked in years._

" _Unohana-san?"_

" _Retsu, my dearest. I have always given you permission to call me Retsu," she chides softly, and her hands leave his forehead to move elsewhere. "Though you never took me up on it."_

_Something pricks at his skin, followed by soothing warmth to chase away the chill that has invaded his flesh. Slowly, surely, awareness dawns. The world focuses, and he recognizes the blurs now._

" _Retsu-san," Sousuke amends with little more than a dry croak. "Why… am I alive?"_

_Her face appears in his line of sight. Pale and pinched with fatigue. Blue eyes dark with sadness but so full of affection that he has to look away._

" _I couldn't let them kill you, dear heart." And her hands find his face and force him to look at her. "I love you,"_ _she says with such vehemence that he's taken aback. "_ _I love you, and I couldn't let you die. Kyouraku-san… He and I were in agreement. We would save you if we could. And I did."_

_He can hardly stand to face her. To let her gaze into his eyes with the knowledge of what he's done. The war, he doesn't regret. But other things? Gin? His uncle? The reminder of them is an open wound, a pain that still aches. The blood on his hands has never felt so thick and gummy. So strongly scented of copper. So tainted and ugly._

_His fingers twitch feebly as Sousuke thinks to grab her hand. "They won't accept this," he says, unable to give voice to anything else._

" _Accept what?" She smiles gently. "To them, you are dead. They need never know."_

_Hotness pricks at the back of his eyes. He's not sure if it's because of whatever concoctions are surging through his systems or if it's another reason entirely. Gratitude surges inside of him. Along with other and stronger emotions. All faster than Sousuke can process. Feelings of comfort and tenderness and warmth, things he's never held for Aizen Sakura but has always carefully protected for this woman._

" _Retsu-san…"_

_She shushes him, a gentle finger pressed to his lips. "Let the drug finish working out of your system first. Save your strength, dear. You'll need it."_

_And she kisses his forehead then. Soft and light and full of something nameless. Just like when he was a child and never knew the gentleness of a mother's touch save hers._

"There you are."

The voice bursts through Sousuke's memory like a balloon struck by a sharp pin. He blinks, startled, and turns slowly. Recognizing the voice before he sets his eyes on the man. Hirako is standing there, grinning like a damn fool with hands shoved in his pockets.

"I was startin' ta think ya were avoidin' me."

How very accurate. Sousuke, in fact, was. But he can't tell Hirako that. Hirako is one of the few here not treating him like a time bomb just waiting to explode.

Instead, Sousuke smoothly changes the subject. "Weren't you with Nel-chan?"

Hirako waves a dismissing hand through the air. "She caught sight of Ichigo, and after that, I was forgotten." He twists his jaw and purses his lips. "Damn kid's always gonna be more popular than me. Seems ta be a common curse that I suffer from." His eyes glance pointedly Sousuke's direction.

Well, Ichigo-kun _is_ about ten times more likeable. Though that is yet another comment that Sousuke will keep to himself. Best not to antagonize his new roommate after all.

"Kurosaki-kun does have a certain air about him," Sousuke agrees thoughtfully, a much safer comment to make than the truth rattling inside his brain. "A certain charisma if you will."

Hirako looks at him for a long moment before his lips curl into a slow, lazy grin. "Noticed that, have ya?" he asks with a thoughtful hum. "What else have ya discovered 'bout Ichigo?"

Unsure if Hirako is attempting to trick or tease him, Sousuke pauses to consider. "He is more intelligent than anyone gives him credit. And he is chafing under Urahara's mother-like smothering."

The Vizard laughs and hooks fingers in his belt loops. He rocks on his heels with an enormous grin.

"What? Ya don't think their relationship's all snuggly-cute and gag-worthy?"

"Definitely the latter," Sousuke agrees. "But it's not my place to form an opinion either way."

"A perfectly political answer," Hirako comments with a sniff and peers at Sousuke again. As though looking right through him and seeing everything that he fails to hide.

Not that there is anything.

"Kisuke… He's somethin' else, ain't he?" Hirako questions, and Sousuke can tell that is rhetorical.

"What that something else is can be a matter of much debate," he still can't help but reply. "A man. A child. A human-shaped octopus."

That only earns him a snort.

"I'd forgotten how funny ya could be." Hirako gives a slap to Sousuke's shoulder that near drives him to his knees.

"I'd forgotten how hard you could hit," Sousuke retorts, somehow managing to steady himself.

Hirako chuckles. "Such a comedian. Ya probably still kill all the ladies. Right, Sousuke?"

"Hardly," the former overlord replies drolly.

Hirako just grins again at that and studies Sousuke's face again. But then, he's silent for a minute. Peering at his one-time lieutenant with an intent air before he frowns. As though he's found something he doesn't like. As though he can see into Sousuke's soul and is somehow concerned with what he's found.

"It's good ta see ya like this," the blond comments then.

It earns him a lifted eyebrow.

"Oh? And how exactly am I like?"

Sousuke feels a flicker of warning seconds after he asks. A tingle that cautions him of approaching danger.

"Better," Hirako says bluntly. "Even if yer not happy. I don't think I've ever seen ya like that. Content, sure. But not outright happy without Gin-chan nearby." He considers for a heartbeat. "But ya seem better now. Better than ya were at the end of the war."

Sousuke lifts an eyebrow. Even as a hand clenches at his side.

"Forgive me, Hirako-san," he inserts with complete and utter calm that is completely and utterly forced. "But I was not at my best then."

Not even near to it.

His former captain gazes at him, face unreadable. "I don't mean the fact that ya lost, and ya know it." There is something akin to sympathy then. "It's not easy losing yer dad. Much less a kid. And I can't pretend that I know what it's like."

Sousuke stills. His throat refuses to work for a moment. But when it does, his voice is firm and without any of the emotions swirling inside.

"I am not Gin's father."

But Sousuke realizes then the error he's made. Hirako hadn't mention Gin by name. And yet, Sousuke had known exactly who he meant.

Hirako stares at him, eyes penetrating and incisive. As they've always been, one hundred years ago and now.

"Ya might not be his dad, but that didn't make him any less your son. Didn't mean that him dying hurt any less."

Sousuke's lips firm. As though trying to keep the truth inside where it belongs and not out in the open where anyone can mock him for it.

"I'm not the poor, misguided child you think I am. I'm not the pitiable victim who just needs to be understood," he says tightly, thinking he knows where Hirako is deriving his sudden friendliness from. "I'm everything that Urahara and your fellow Vizard believe me to be. Every epithet that Soul Society has branded on me. Make no mistake, Hirako-san, I _am_ the villain here."

A moment of silence follows his declaration before Hirako snorts and crowds in on Sousuke's personal space. All but pinning him against the wall.

"Don't play that bullshit game with me, Sou-chan. Ya want me ta feel sorry for you?" he asks, but it isn't nearly as harsh as it should be. "Pity ya? Do ya need me ta reassure ya? Pat ya on the back and say ' _It's okay. You're not that bad of a guy?_ '"

Sousuke's eyes narrow. "I have never sought your sympathy, and I certainly haven't asked for forgiveness either."

"Why should you? I doubt there's anything you regret." Hirako's tone is low as he cocks his head, as though an idea has just occurred to him. "No, I take that back. I can think of a few things as a matter of fact. And I know without your sarcasm, that you're not the monster you're trying ta convince me ya are."

Sousuke tilts his head and refuses to be intimidated by his former captain. "I don't need to convince you. My actions speak for themselves."

"That they do," Hirako agrees with another of his wide-mouthed, teeth-gleaming grins. "They tell me everythin' I need ta know. And only prove that you're not the merciless, bloodthirsty bastard ya think ya are."

"So certain of that, are you?" he retorts with eyes still narrowed behind his glasses.

Hirako draws back, one hand flicking through the air as the other rests on his hip. "I know that ya could've beaten me. Me and Retsu-san both." His face is tight and controlled. "Ya could've cut us down after mindfucking us so thoroughly that we thought the sky was pink and the ground made of cotton candy."

He studies Sousuke. And eyes the exits as though refusing the former overlord the chance to escape.

"But we both know ya didn't try in the end. Not really. Not after Shunsui. And not after Gin-chan." Hirako's gaze is so intense that Sousuke fights not to look away. "You'd stopped caring by then. And truth be told, I think ya wanted to die. Ya wanted one of us ta kill ya. Put ya out of yer misery."

"Is that so?"

His eyebrows twitch. Question forced out through clenched teeth while he fights his body's urge to start shaking. Hirako's words strike too deeply, too _true_. And Sousuke hates that Hirako has always been able to see right through him.

"It is." Hirako pauses and looks right at him as though Sousuke's so transparent he might as well not even have a body. "There's your regret, right there. And it makes me wonder if maybe that's why ya really went ta find Ichigo in the first place. Ya were hoping he'd kill ya, and when he didn't, ya had to go with plan B."

Sousuke feels his fingers draw into fists, not out of violence. But to stop himself from a pathetic, visible trembling.

"If I wanted death so badly, I wouldn't be here and hiding with you," he cuts in sharply. "I would have walked out in the street, announced myself to Soul Society, and let them do as they willed."

"But then you'd be betraying Retsu's sacrifice, wouldn't ya?" Hirako says smugly and nods in satisfaction at the subtle widening of Sousuke's eyes. "Oh yeah, I know who helped ya. In the end, I only needed one guess. She would've done anything ta save ya. Shunsui would've, too. Had he lived, I wouldn't have been surprised if he disappeared into the living world with ya. Especially since Ukitake would've had Ichigo ta take care of 'im."

To Sousuke's horror, he finds himself taking a step away from Hirako's all-too-close-to-the-truth accusation. He stops himself. But not until the damage has already been done.

"She shouldn't have taken the risk," Sousuke manages after a beat. "But I will not dishonor that either."

Hirako gives a fierce nod. "At least you've held on ta some common sense," he comments and thumbs his chin, eyes raking Sousuke up and down. Opens his mouth to say something further.

But another voice cuts in before he can.

" _Shinji!_ "

And never has anyone sounded so much like a blessing to Sousuke as Ichigo-kun does now. He turns to see the young man approaching. Trailed by Nel Tu, who skips happily after him in her child form, all but clinging to his pants.

Hirako brightens, spreading his arms wide. "Ichigo!" he greets enthusiastically. "Were ya lookin' for me?"

Ichigo-kun makes a face. One of long-standing patience. And oddly, he rubs at his chest. Directly over his sternum as though it pains him in some way. A very odd motion. And one Sousuke recalls him doing several times in the past. How peculiar.

"Kinda. More like Kisuke was looking for you, and I was sent to play fetch."

"That lazy bum," Hirako puts in with cheer. As though he and Sousuke hadn't just been discussing dark and dire topics. "What about?"

Ichigo-kun shrugs. His eyes briefly flicker to Sousuke, who is very subtly inching out of Hirako's peripheral vision.

"He didn't say."

"Figures." Hirako snorts and casts a very fake but still apologetic glance Sousuke's direction. "Well, I guess we'll have ta save our heart-ta-heart for later, Sou-chan. And we were makin' _so_ much progress."

Sousuke resists the childish urge to roll his eyes. "It is regrettable indeed, Hirako-san," he lies, relief flooding through him at the convenient excuse.

The blond harrumphs at Sousuke's reversion to a polite distance. But turns on his heel nevertheless and strides down the hall in the direction Ichigo-kun had come, waving a over his shoulder. Then, Ichigo-kun gives Sousuke a long searching look as though trying to figure out a particularly stubborn puzzle before moving to follow Hirako.

They leave Nel-chan behind, standing and staring up at Sousuke as though she's seeing a new person and not her former ruler. He returns her stare. Never quite sure what to make of the Arrancar who at random moments switches between adult and child.

"Where are ya goin' now?" Nel-chan asks, trotting up alongside him as he goes opposite of Hirako's direction.

He hopes for a little piece of quiet. And perhaps a touch of rationality and sanity to go with it. Both of which are in short supply in this place.

"I'm not exactly sure," he answers truthfully because not even he has fully explored this place and knows it'll be difficult to find a room not infested by Vizard or perverted shopkeepers. "Somewhere quiet."

There's a pop, a slight surge of reiatsu. And suddenly, Neliel is beside him in her adult form, watching him curiously as her clothes stretch to almost obscene proportions. Her gaze is steady and intelligent, insightful.

"I think I know just the place," she pronounces and grabs his hand lightening fast.

Sousuke blinks in surprise. And idly wonders why she has chosen to linger with him. They've never truly spoken aside from meetings with his Espada. Or when he dispensed orders in his usual detached but polite way.

"Lead on" is all he can say as curiosity eats at him.

Neliel beams and tugs him along. He allows her to pull him down the hallway and into the main room where Yadomaru Lisa is still engrossed by her movie. The bespectacled Vizard spares them a parting look but little else, and Neliel moves to the opposite side of the room where another door opens into yet another hallway. This one is brighter, filled with a cheery, sweet smell.

Sousuke follows Neliel to the kitchen of all places. Where the sunlight shines through the window over the sink that's covered in lacey, yellow curtains of all things. No one's here at the moment, but the sight of a pot bubbling on the stove proves that someone will return at some point. Neliel doesn't pause, however, moving easily through the room to the door on the other side.

It doesn't open to a backyard, like Sousuke expects. Rather to a sun room with a wide set of glass doors that reveal a veranda covered in green vegetation. The room itself is carefully packed with various bits of furniture, and it holds a quaint, homey sort of feeling. Which begs the question of who, among the insane and tasteless Vizard, could've designed and decorated such a room.

Neliel takes him to a chair and all but sits him down in it. Sousuke just allows it and watches as she wanders over to the sliding doors, staring out but not leaving. He supposes if he has to suffer anyone's company, Neliel in her current form is most preferable, aside from a decent conversation with Ichigo-kun. Still, Sousuke isn't sure where Neliel stands on his presence.

"When you said quiet, did you also mean alone?" she asks then, turning to regard him with those eerily mature eyes.

Sousuke shakes his head. Occupying his own gaze by intently studying one of the few paintings decorating the walls.

"I would not argue against company such as yours," he replies easily enough.

A small, indulgent smile curls Neliel's lips. "You always were a smooth talker," she comments, as though she'd been the ruler and he the subordinate. "I wouldn't begrudge you solitude, Aizen-san."

He pauses to consider her. Tilting his head slightly.

"I'm actually curious," he admits.

She quirks a brow a faces him fully. "Oh?"

Sousuke settles for sincerity since there's something about Neliel that speaks of blunt honesty. That she won't play silly word games and she won't mock him for speaking the truth. That she won't try to use it against him in some way. That Sousuke can be frank without worry.

"Am I foe or friend?"

Neliel smiles at him and chuckles softly. "Neither." She lowers herself into a chair with more grace than Sousuke would've expected. "Right now, you are Aizen-san, a man I once admired greatly and still might. A few minutes ago, you were Aizen-sama, the terrible but amazing. Who dared challenge Soul Society and its might. It is all simply a matter of perspective."

It takes Sousuke several seconds to reason out her explanation before understanding crashes over him. Ah, she is referring to her different forms. Sousuke supposes that makes an odd sort of sense.

"Then I needn't worry about a knife in the back?" he questions with a slight smile of his own. "Or perhaps one in the front?"

"Not from me." She gives that mysterious, knowing almost-smirk at him once again. "You were always too busy for us, but I remember Ichimaru-sama fondly, Aizen-san. Sometimes, he had nothing better to do than chat with the Espada. Those who would sit around and listen to him at any rate."

Sousuke can't help the involuntary hitch in his breathing or the stutter in his heart at the mention of Gin. He so rarely finds reason to talk about him; there are none around who regard him in a favorable light like Sousuke does. No, he's surrounded by mostly enemies who consider anyone in connection with him to be made of the same, vile components. They don't see Gin as Sousuke does. Do not remember him as the boy who was so happy to follow in his shadow and bask in his attention.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Did he now?" Sousuke asks, and fondness curls his lips. "I always wondered where he went when he disappeared. And he did speak well of you, Neliel."

"I'm sure he had other equally secret getaways," she agrees with a similarly fond chuckle. "But he'd talk of Soul Society or Rukongai or the past with me and anyone else who'd listen. Ulquiorra whenever Ichimaru-sama mentioned you. Halibel sometimes. Stark if he was awake and in need of a good cup of tea."

Something tugs at Sousuke's insides. "He always did brew the best tea."

The past calls to him so strongly that Sousuke can't ignore it. He wants to relish in old, happy memories. To remind himself of better times before his foolishness had gotten nearly everyone who meant anything to him killed.

But his thoughts, it seems, have a mind of their own. And Sousuke doesn't recall gentle times. Doesn't remember little boy laughter and the feel of silvery hair sliding affectionately through his fingers. Or watching Gin master techniques and skills effortlessly. Or sparring shikai to bankai and the sight of Gin's smile whenever he managed to score a hit. Or the taste of well-made tea and warmth of pride at the man across from him, newly frocked in a captain's haori.

He only thinks of the last minutes of Gin's life. When he'd failed to do anything to prevent his death. When Sousuke was too far, too weak, too distracted and could only watch as Gin fell to Senbonzakura.

_On the other side of the battlefield, he feels Gin's reiatsu spike. A feeling of dread accompanies the burst of power and claws at his belly. Gin is usually so calm, unruffled, his power something that rarely finds needs to rise. And Sousuke knows that there are few on the battlefield capable of providing challenge to his second. Few who can fight him at full strength. But Gin has already battled this day. Already fought long and hard against two Vizard and driven them back._

_Sousuke turns, eyes raking the combat zone. Looking with both sight and sense. Trying to identify Gin's opponent through streaks of familiar and unfamiliar reiatsu that soak the air and the ground. Ukitake is there somewhere, all jagged lightning and indignant tidal wave. But he's dropping back, reiatsu pulling around him like one would a thick coat on a cold day._

_Gin's facing someone else now. Someone who tastes sharp and refined. Cold and relentless. Not as young as Hitsugaya, but jaded._

_**Kuchiki Byakuya.** _

_Sousuke is less concerned now. Actually feels a flicker of relief. There's no way that Kuchiki is capable of defeating Gin. Not by a long shot and not if he couldn't even take down that Kurosaki brat. Sousuke turns his attention back to his own opponents, little more than distractions on his goal to obtaining the Royal Key._

_He's so close to victory that Sousuke can practically taste it. The power that he'll soon carry, the ability to change the world, to alter Soul Society. To protect and prevent and hold the world in the palm of his hands. More power than Sousuke can possibly imagine. It is everything they've ever worked for. Everything they've ever dreamed._

_Tousen who lost his closest friend and only family. Murdered by her own husband._

_Gin who grew up among the worst parts of Rukongai. Surrounded by poverty and pain and death._

_Sousuke himself. Who intimately knows the corruption inherent in their own government. In Chamber 46 and the father who held the power of life and death over his youngest son._

_But then, Gin's reiatsu surges again. Stronger this time, tasting of desperation. Full of pain and the reopening of injuries he earned hours ago and Sousuke had thought healed. Surges and then sputters._

_And Sousuke whirls in just enough time to see him falter. To watch his slow fall that seems to take forever but not long at all. For their eyes to meet one final time and for Gin to mouth out words he no longer has the strength to voice._

" _I'm sorry," he tries to say. "Forgive me, Aizen-taichou."_

_Then, he is lost to a wave of pink petals. And seconds later, his reiatsu flickers and fades away._

"Aizen-san?"

Neliel's voice pulls him from the memories. Sousuke shakes his head, though the motion does little to chase away the grief and anger such recollections bring to life. He failed Gin as much as he failed himself. And here, he is. Concocting another scheme with an even smaller margin of success. Why? For all the reasons Hirako had outlined to him? Did he crave power that much? Did he truly care what happened to Soul Society anymore? Did he care if it survived when Shunsui and Gin were both gone? When Ulquiorra was little more than ashes in the wind?

What did it matter?

Sousuke bites back his sigh. "Nothing," he says, unwilling to divulge the absolute truth. "The past is simply proving particularly strong today."

"It's never completely forgotten," Neliel agrees with a solemn nod.

He knows that she now thinks of her fallen Fracción. Lost to a Shinigami who mistook them for those still loyal to Sousuke. And he wonders if the man ever lived to regret that ghastly mistake. If Neliel delivered the justice he so sorely deserved and she so desperately needed.

But then, who among them gets what they deserve?

Not Gin. He deserved an easier life. The one that Seireitei promised but failed to deliver. Instead receiving one full of whispers and rumors and near knives to his back.

Not Shunsui. He deserved a son of his own. A better son. One who could return his love and goodness wholeheartedly. Who wasn't so damaged that he couldn't offer more than betrayal.

Not Sousuke himself. He deserves a far worse fate. One meant for sons who murder their fathers. For fathers who outlive their sons. For failures who still cling to the past and refuse to put the dead to rest.


	24. Revelation

For once, Ichigo sleeps without dreaming. His rest is full of quiet and calm; he sleeps as though he's never had any troubles. His bed is comfortable, and the weight sharing it is warm and familiar. He sleeps surrounded in the fading scent of gunpowder and candy, in the new scent of herbals soaps and reiatsu free from its confines. He can feel Kisuke beside him, even unconsciously, and that as much as anything else is a comfort.

Warmth surrounds him. It tickles down his sides, gently, teasingly. It smooths across his flesh, calmly caressing. It breathes hot and damp over his skin. It makes pleasure stir in his blood.

Ichigo breathes in and out but still catches the edge of a hitch. He twitches, feelings of desire trickling through his sleepy mind. It pools low in his belly, pulling him into a state of half-consciousness. He wakes slowly. Eyes opening to a lazy morning that hints of storm clouds and a low chuckle that spills into the room.

"Took you long enough," Kisuke says, and his mouth presses gently against Ichigo's groin. Breath ghosting over an already rigid arousal.

Ichigo sucks in air through his teeth. And one hand flails out to twist fingers into the comforter.

"Pervert," he accuses, head bumping back against a pillow. Nevertheless, his hips rise off the mattress and push towards the welcome warmth of Kisuke's mouth.

Kisuke's answering laugh vibrates around his length, and Ichigo bites back a moan. He has to admit that he can't remember a time when he's woken in a better mood. This is definitely preferable to swallowing down a choked scream and desperately trying to forget the overwhelming smell of blood.

Kisuke's tongue swipes over his throbbing arousal, and Ichigo sucks in another breath, bad thoughts immediately chased away. Fingers are dragging down his sides and hips, teasing and touching. Kisuke's mouth is hot and wet. His lips provided the perfect pressure, and his tongue strokes in all the ways Ichigo likes.

He can't keep his hips still, and Ichigo rocks upwards to thrust shallowly into Kisuke's mouth. This doesn't seem to bother Kisuke as he merely relaxes his jaw and allows Ichigo to thrust deeper. Ichigo can feel Kisuke's hum of appreciation as he reaches down and tangles a hand in blond hair, and a moan escapes from his lips before he can stop it. There's a low, lazy heat building in his groin and coiling in his belly. His veins feel as though they're smoldering, and Ichigo knows that a flush must've colored his cheeks.

He closes his eyes, surrendering to sensation. To the feel of Kisuke's fingers traveling over his skin. Tickling between his thighs, tugging gently at his scrotum. Kisuke's tongue laps at his flesh. Curls around the leaking head of Ichigo's length in a motion that draws a ragged noise from his throat.

Fingers replace Kisuke's mouth. And Ichigo feels teeth and tongue press against his inner thigh for a nibble. He peels his eyes open, looking down to see Kisuke watching him mischievously as he languidly strokes Ichigo's straining arousal. His thumb swipes over the head that's beading with fluid.

"Teasing me now?" Ichigo demands.

And no, it doesn't emerge on the end of a gasp. Not at all.

"Tit for tat," Kisuke all but sing-songs, his tongue flicking out over the inside of Ichigo's thigh where a small mark is beginning to redden. "Equivalent exchange and all that jazz."

Ichigo groans, his head thumping back. "You know, being a tease is likely to chase away the good mood you just gave me."

"Only if there's no resolution," Kisuke responds with one of his playful grins, eyes practically sparkling with cheer. The fingers of his free hand tickle across Ichigo's hip before his lips quickly follow.

Ichigo jerks, pushing his length further into the tunnel of Kisuke's grip, seeking more stimulation. The blond seems to take this as a challenge, sliding his fingers over Ichigo's straining length as his lips trace a nonsense path over tanned flesh. Each feather-light touch is maddening for its lack of substance.

He can feel the puff of Kisuke's warm breath. And Ichigo pushes upward hopefully.

Kisuke just chuckles. "Eager are we?"

"Impatient more like," Ichigo retorts and gives a light tug to Kisuke's hair, hoping to encourage him to get with the program.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of your boldness," the former captain murmurs and closes his lips over Ichigo's length again, tongue flicking over the leaking slit. His fingers slide down to curl around Ichigo's balls and squeeze them gently.

Ichigo pants and then moans, body filled with a lethargic and comfortable heat. Kisuke's tongue flicks over his flesh skillfully, and Ichigo immerses himself in the sensation. Warm and wet with the perfect pressure. Kisuke's fingers are equally talented, rubbing and kneading, tugging in all the right places.

They disappear for a minute, and Ichigo hears the distinct noise of a cap being popped. A the light, herbal smell of some kind of oil fills the room, and then the fingers return. Slickly caressing Ichigo's scrotum before moving lower, stroking that small patch of flesh just behind his balls. He shivers as it feels strangely good, strangely arousing, spiking heat through his groin.

And then, Kisuke's fingers tickle lower still. Brushing across Ichigo's puckered muscle, and he can feel the heat of a gaze on him. Ichigo doesn't answer verbally. He doesn't even have to think about it. He just pushes his legs further apart, giving Kisuke more room to work, giving him tacit permission.

Kisuke's talented tongue laps at Ichigo's length as though thanking him profusely for the consent. His finger disappears briefly before returning, feeling slick as it rubs against Ichigo's skin. Too relaxed by Kisuke's skilled ministrations, he barely flinches as the single digit pushes inside of him. It's a strange feeling, but one that is largely ignored in favor of the warm, wet pressure in other places.

Kisuke is doing a fantastic job of distracting him with his mouth. Ichigo's already close. He can feel his belly drawing tight, can feel the heat building in his groin. Kisuke's finger moves in and out of him, slowly, carefully, before he adds another and twists them just so. Twists both fingers in such a way that Ichigo lets out a sound of pleasure as need sizzling through his veins. His hips are pushing up into Kisuke's mouth and pushing down against the invading digits, seeking more.

Kisuke chuckles again. The resulting vibrations only ratcheting up the tension inside of Ichigo until he's panting, thinking only _more, more, more_. The odd sensation of fingers inside of him has been replaced by a strange pleasure that shoots through him every time Kisuke curls his hand and presses against something incredible. Ichigo's no idiot, and he was a med student after all. He knows good and well what exactly his lover is stroking with efficient, skilled motions. But Ichigo never thought it would feel this damn good, even if Kisuke had seemed to enjoy it the other day.

A single hand on his hips keeps him from shoving his arousal too far down Kisuke's throat, but it can't stop Ichigo from twitching. Can't stop him from releasing a string of sounds that mix words and curses and moans as heat peppers down his spine and pools in his gut. One hand fists into the covers, wrinkling the sheets as Ichigo shoves his other one into his mouth, trying to muffle the noises. Knowing that the Vizard, perverts that they are, aren't above gleefully eavesdropping.

Fingers curl inside of him to the same rhythm as Kisuke's tongue, and Ichigo loses it. His hips snap upward as release rips through him. His teeth and lips clamp down on his knuckles as tremors of white-hot pleasure rock through his body. He spills into Kisuke's mouth, and the blond swallows him down without any sign of protest.

Ichigo draws in a ragged breath, spasming as a tongue traces over his softening length. A low growl of passes through Ichigo's lips as he reaches down with both hands and tangles one in blond hair and the other in the open folds of Kisuke's shirt. Using his grip, Ichigo drags his lover up to him. He's all too willing to drape his warm body on top of Ichigo's, too.

Their mouths meet in a sloppy, hungry kiss as thoughts of _more, want,_ _ **now**_ race through Ichigo's being. He shoves his tongue deep into Kisuke's mouth, tasting himself on those sinful lips. The realization of such is strangely erotic, and Ichigo groans, sliding an arm around Kisuke and dragging the blond down fully on top of him. Their bodies move together, rubbing and touching. Ichigo can feel the proof of Kisuke's arousal against his abdomen, desperately needing attention. And Ichigo would be very remiss if he let his lover down after that wonderful wake-up call.

But then, the sound of loud, rapid knocking fills the room. Startling Ichigo out of the lazy haze of desire that had wound around him. He blinks, pulling away from Kisuke to glare in the general direction of the door. Who in the hell-

"Oi, lovebirds!" A very familiar voice sings from the other side, sounding entirely too gleeful for the early hour. "It's time to get out of bed!"

 _Shinji_.

Only he would be so bold. Well, and perhaps Lisa, too. But for her it'd be a matter of _hoping_ to catch them in the middle of something so that she can take pictures for later reference.

Ichigo freezes. Kisuke does, too. Only for his eyes to narrow to mere slits.

"What the hell does he want?" the blond hisses, voice strained. Likely reflecting the intense arousal of his body and the fact that it doesn't seem like relief will be found anytime soon.

"You know," Ichigo begins with a growing sense of alarm. "If he has to ask twice, he's just going to barge in here."

And Ichigo, for one, doesn't want to be caught with his pants down. Especially not by Shinji who would find some way to tease them ruthlessly about it for weeks to come.

Kisuke shakes his head. "I locked the door." But there's still an edge of doubt to that.

"You really think that's gonna stop him?" Ichigo asks with a cocked brow, dragging his tongue over his lips as his head falls back against the pillow. And he was looking forward to a lazy morning in.

"Ichigo has a visitor!" Shinji adds from the other side of the door. His voice fills with a childish sort of glee as the knob rattles ominously.

Ichigo wonders who the hell qualifies as a visitor. How many people actually know where the Vizard live? And who would step willingly into the madness just to talk to him? Yoruichi-san perhaps. But she's the only one Ichigo can think of, and even then, he can't be sure. Not anymore.

Kisuke sighs and leans back. Treating Ichigo to a lingering kiss that threatens to turn to more before the ex-captain pulls back.

"Shall we continue later?"

"Provided my visitor doesn't try to kill me in some way?" Ichigo puts in with a snort.

He rolls out from under the blond, fingers snagging his pants from the floor. Luckily, a pair of boxers are tangled with the jeans, making it much easier to dress quickly.

"Shinji wouldn't have allowed someone dangerous," Kisuke replies as though that's enough to reassure him. Then, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabbing his own clothes.

Ichigo snorts, casting around for a shirt as the knob rattles again.

"We're coming!" Kisuke calls out loudly.

He no doubt hopes to forestall Shinji's intrusion into their shared room. Even if it's borrowed. There's a little thing called personal space that Shinji has always taken as more of a suggestion rather than a rule.

And his laughter can be heard so clearly he might as well be standing inside the room. "I don't need a blow-by-blow! Just get yer asses out here."

Ichigo rolls his eyes. Shinji can be such a child some times. It's amazing that he was ever a captain of the Gotei 13. But then, looking at what leads said organization right now, Ichigo can't say he's so surprised either.

Dragging a hand over his hair and pulling a shirt over his head, Ichigo decides he's ready to face the day. As a final precaution, he grabs Zangetsu, sliding the strap over his chest. It still feels strange to bear the blade when he's not wearing his shihakushou, but he has no wish to return to that basic particular ensemble either.

And that thought is a reminder that he hasn't been in his actual body for over two months now. Ichigo hopes that Kon's taking care of it. Though it looks like Ichigo won't be needing it anytime soon, if he ever needs it at all. Of everything the Shinigami have stolen from him, Ichigo's mortal life is the one loss that strikes him the hardest. He doesn't even know what to call himself now. Not Shinigami. Not Hollow. Not human. Vizard perhaps. But that doesn't even cover all the intricacies that comprise his existence.

A hand falls on Ichigo's shoulder then, squeezing gently and pulling him from his reverie.

"All right, my dear?" Kisuke asks gently and with more than a hint of concern.

He nods and offers a look that he knows is far from reassuring. But it's the best he has to give at the moment.

"Just thinking. Hoping that Kon is taking care of my body and not doing anything embarrassing."

Grey eyes search his face. As though his lover doesn't believe him for a second. But Kisuke gives a crooked smile in return.

"Don't worry," he says and brushes Ichigo's hair from his face; it really is getting long. "I'm sure everything is fine."

Ichigo leans into the touch for a minute. And even has thoughts to offer a kiss in return. But there's a fairly good chance that they'll get distracted by it.

"We'll see," he comments instead and finally moves forward. Pulling open the door before Shinji decides to forego ceremony by inviting himself inside.

In the hallway, he's already grinning like a loon from where he stands against the opposite wall with his hip cocked to the side. Still, there is a tightness to his eyes that proves half of his humor is forced.

"Who is it?" Ichigo asks, already shifting into business mode.

His good mood is gone. Erased by the feeling of a reiatsu in the building that Ichigo doesn't immediately recognize. It's a tad familiar. As though he _should_ know the feel of it and the owner. But Ichigo can't place him. Or possibly her.

The older Vizard shakes his head, eyes momentarily glancing at Kisuke. Who's stepping out behind Ichigo, hat perched on his head and pulled low over his eyes.

"It's better if ya see fer yourself."

"Shinji?"

Kisuke's tone is confused, but there's a hard edge that Ichigo hasn't missed. It makes Ichigo's hackles rise, but he isn't sure why. Perhaps his lover can recognize the reiatsu where he cannot.

Shinji twitches, but his is expression firm. "No, you lost your chance."

Ichigo moves so that he can see both blonds, and the two exchange a silent conversation with their eyes alone. Secrets and mysteries cling to the air with the stench of an ash-ridden battlefield. Kisuke looks like he wants to protest, but otherwise, his face is devoid of expression, features tight and hidden. Shinji appears stubborn, resolute. Matching Kisuke glare for glare.

Ichigo's eyes skip between them. "What's going on?"

Finally, Shinji glances his direction. "It's nothing. Just somethin' between Ki-kun and myself. Just go on ta the main room. Your visitor's waitin' there."

A part of Ichigo thinks to be stubborn, to refuse to move until they spill everything they've been keeping from him. Ichigo deserves it after all. He deserves to know the truth, and he's tired of being lied to. He's tired of being left out of the loop. But there's another part of him that's just so damn sick of it he doesn't even care anymore.

Ichigo doesn't say anything, doesn't agree or disagree. He just turns on his heel and leaves the two blonds to their business. Whatever the hell it is. The low murmur of conversation – or argument rather – starts up behind him, but Ichigo doggedly tunes it out. He's really getting tired of all this secrecy. And sooner or later, he's going to catch someone actually willing to spill the beans.

Perhaps Aizen. He's the only bastard to ever answer anything. But even then, the former overlord is obviously hiding a few things. Maybe to conceal his grief or embarrassment over his failure. Ichigo doesn't know and doesn't care. He wants answers from whomever will give them.

He rounds the corner, irritation rising higher and higher. Ichigo feels on the verge of attacking someone, and when he steps into the main room, something inside of him snaps. Standing in the middle of the open space – with the various Vizard scattered about the room – is Isshin. In Shinigami black and white.

There's a zanpakutou strapped to his side. And the remnants of what appears to be a captain's haori crosses his chest. Only to be tucked over one shoulder, flowing out freely behind him. Isshin's expression is unreadable. Though a hint of relief brightens dark eyes once he notices his son.

He takes a single step forward. Maybe he thinks to greet Ichigo, follow through with one of those bone-crushing not-quite-hugs. Or even one of this Daddy-Love-Kicks to the face. Whatever. Ichigo isn't really thinking about that because he stops mid-step and stares. Fucking stares at the man who's supposed to be unable to see spirits but stands there dressed in Shinigami black bearing a zanpakutou. And all Ichigo can think is _what the holy fuck?_

Across his back, Zangetsu thrums uneasily. Shirosaki echoes Ichigo's sentiment. And a shit-ton of outrage vibrates out from the Hollow's being.

"Ichi-"

"What the _fuck_?"

Ichigo saves no time for pleasantries. Maybe if he hadn't already been annoyed, he could've started this in a civil manner. But Ichigo feels like he's been broadsided by a Menos Grande and then forced to go ten rounds with Grimmjow followed by a fight with Ulquiorra because life just likes making it difficult for him.

Silence descends in the room, all eyes going to father and son. Anxiety flashes in Isshin's scruffy face before he straightens, trying to appear intimidating. Trying to appear like the father Ichigo never really thought he was.

Reiatsu curls around Ichigo, lending strength and fuel to the righteous fury. "You're a _Shinigami_?" he demands. "What the fuck, Dad? What the fuck?"

He can't seem to say anything else, stuck on that one point. Like a rodent on some freaking wheel. Spinning and spinning and getting nowhere.

Isshin sighs. "I am," he admits like it takes great effort to tell the truth even though he's standing right in front of Ichigo with the truth so obvious that it can't be denied. "Though it's only recently I've returned to my full strength."

Anger burns so brightly, so hotly, that it turns cold inside of Ichigo. A certifiable wave of ice that crashes over him. Only to heat back to boiling.

"And you think now is the best time to tell me," Ichigo shoots back, eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Great, Dad. I feel so freakin' relieved. Never mind that I could've used it years ago. You know, when it actually _mattered_."

Isshin takes a step forward, hands clenching into fists at his side. Ichigo can't find it him to pity the bastard.

"Things were different then."

"Oh, I'm sure." Ichigo rolls his eyes as a sharp bark of laughter escaping his lips, dark and mocking. "It must've been a riot. Watching me stumble around thinking I'm the only freak who sees ghosts. Thinking I need to risk everything to protect my family because I'm the only one who can. Bearing everything by myself because there's no way my dad would understand. How could he? Shinigami and Hollows and Soul Society. It sounds crazy, right. Right?"

Ichigo's shaking now. His body trembles so fiercely he fears violence will soon ensue. He struggles to pull in his lashing reiatsu, and his chest aches. Just under his sternum. A hard knot that vibrates inside of him. And somewhere from behind, he hears footsteps approach and recognizes Shinji and Kisuke.

 _Kisuke_.

Oh, that bastard. He _knew_. He had to have known. There's no way his lover didn't know. And Kisuke couldn't be bothered to share that information either.

Ichigo twists his jaw, but he doesn't spare a glance behind him. Kisuke, he'll deal with that lying shit later. Right now, the man in front of Ichigo deserves his whole attention. Isshin's saying something, but Ichigo's not sure what. He cuts him off with a tight shake of his head.

"It must have been so fucking hilarious."

And Kisuke makes a noise behind him, but Ichigo ignores that, too.

"Did you two talk about it? Laugh behind my back? Did you like watching me struggle? Watching me wander around trying to understand why I'm such a fucking freak?"

Isshin shakes his head, taking another firm step forward. "It wasn't like that," he says, finally finding his voice. "I just… I didn't know what to say. How could I tell you?"

Oh, no. Oh, hell no. Isshin is not going to play that card. Not when it was easy for him to tell that something had happened with Ichigo. Not when he knew the connection between them. Not like Ichigo, who debated for long hours with himself as to whether he could tell his father or not. Whether he could trust that he wouldn't be thrown into a mental ward or dismissed as a liar. He managed to tell Karin after all, and he would've told Isshin too if he thought he'd be believed.

"Very easily," Ichigo snarls, and he can't hold himself back anymore.

His reiatsu is a violent force around him, lashing and whipping. He feels a tentative brush of Benihime against the angry tendrils. But Zangetsu draws away from her, rejecting the comfort. Not from Kisuke. Not right now.

"Something like ' _Hey, son. I'm really a fucking Shinigami. Isn't that nice to know?_ ' would've been a start."

Isshin flinches. But whether from the vehemence of Ichigo's stare or the rising weight of reiatsu in the room, Ichigo doesn't know. Doesn't care.

"It wasn't that simple."

"Not that simple?"

Ichigo laughs again, lacking any humor, lacking any restraint. There's something inside of him, whirling and spinning, refusing to settle. Though he supposes this is what he gets for trying to demand answers. Here they are, right in front of him, wrapped in Shinigami black.

"It's always been that simple," he all but shouts. "Four little words. ' _I am a Shinigami.'_ After that, the rest would have been easy."

Isshin's starting to resemble a trapped rat. His eyes dart around nervously, his expression twisted and tight.

"There was never a good time," he says slowly.

Something inside of Ichigo twitches violently. _Never a good time_? What the hell is that supposed to mean? The past is full of perfect moments. Perfect times when Isshin could've stepped out of the shadows to offer an arm or a shoulder or _some_ sort of moral support.

The first time Ichigo saw a Hollow. After his mother's death. After meeting Rukia. When they were attacked at his mom's grave. Before he went to Soul Society. After Toushirou and his team were assigned to Karakura. When he started having problems with Shirosaki. At any time during the war when he had nothing better to do but lie somewhere and heal or wait for Inoue to regain her strength long enough to tend to him.

Or even afterwards. When he had nightmares so badly that he woke tasting blood on his tongue. Nightmares so noisy that he thought it better to live on his own while finishing out school rather than where he'd scare Karin and Yuzu.

So many opportunities. The past swims with them. And yet, Isshin has the gall to say there was never a good time.

Isshin looks pained, desperate. Strange that Ichigo still can't find it in him to care. Even when Isshin starts pleading with a pointed look to the audience surrounding them. All the Vizard. Kisuke. Nel. _Aizen_.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

Ichigo gives him a look. "Hell, no. You had your chance for privacy," he grits out through clenched teeth. If he has to learn like this, then everyone else can see how much of an asshole Isshin is. "I want them to hear this!"

"I'd like to hear it," a voice comments from the side.

Ichigo glances her direction, easily identifying Lisa. There's a strange look on her face. One he can't interpret.

Isshin glares at her before looking back at Ichigo. "This is a matter between family, son."

His voice is slow and careful. Like Ichigo's nine years old again, haunted by memories of his mother's death and how they must be his fault. Because he didn't protect her like he was supposed to. Didn't protect her like his father had always taught him to do.

"Oh. So _now_ I'm your son," Ichigo says and flicks a hand around the room, gesturing to their audience. "Only when you're too embarrassed to deny it."

Behind him, Kisuke stirs. As though finally deciding it's time he opened his mouth.

"Ichigo-"

Whirling, Ichigo fixes him with a firm glare. One cold enough that even Toushirou and Kuchiki Byakuya would be proud.

"Not. A. Word," Ichigo hisses because Kisuke's going to get his soon enough. "You knew and never said a damned thing. So I don't want to hear it."

His lover shakes his head, eyes dark and unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. "It wasn't my place." One hand is curled around Benihime, and it tightens then. "He's my friend and has been for a long time."

Ichigo feels himself twitch again. For the moment, Isshin is forgotten as that sinks in. As the implications sink in. And Ichigo starts to see everything in a new and exceedingly disturbing light.

"So you can fucking sleep in my bed and fuck me in it too, but you can't even be bothered to tell me you know my dad?"

Dead, stabbed through the heart, ground into dust, scattered to the four winds silence grips the room, but it's punctuated by a few startled gasps. Yes, their relationship was largely known, but neither he nor Kisuke had come out and said it. And now, Ichigo's practically screamed it from the rooftop. But even with that, the only ones surprised are Isshin and maybe Hiyori. The first doesn't know or understand Ichigo at all and the second likes to live in a happy little land of denial when it comes to anything approaching sex. Probably comes from living so long with Shinji, Lisa, and Mashiro.

But then, Isshin lets out a low growl. A glance over his shoulder shows that his so-called father has paled, eyes narrowing into thin slits that focus Kisuke's direction.

"You stay out of this," Ichigo growls, not about to start an argument about who he chooses to make his boyfriend. He turns back toward the man who's supposed to be his lover. "Answer me."

Kisuke straightens, more adept at handling Ichigo's temper. And far too skilled at hiding his secrets and his plots and the truth. At blurring the lines. At muddling them together until Ichigo can't even tell who he is anymore. Much less the man who shares his body.

And maybe that should've been Ichigo's first clue. Gods above and below, he was better off with Jyuushiro. The man might've refused to touch him and proved to be spineless in the end, but at least Ichigo could sleep next to him with a clear conscience and not worry about being knifed in the back during the night. And Ichigo's fairly sure that if Jyuushiro had any clue about his family that he would've mentioned it. Even if only to clarify that Isshin is who he thought.

"It's a matter between family, Ichigo," the blond says, as though he doesn't have the wherewithal or courage to come up with his own excuse. "He's your father."

Ichigo snorts, unable to stop now. It's all out in the open anyway. No reason to keep pretending, to keep shoving all his thoughts inside and burying them with everyone else. If there's one thing his recent circumstances have taught him, it's that not even the dead stay buried. That Ichigo can't run from the truth. It's going to find him one way or another and then proceed to make his life a living hell.

"He rarely acts like it," Ichigo bites out furiously, and he knows if he keeps this up that Shirosaki might just come out to play. "I've never depended on him for anything. I knew I'd never get it. And this just proves I was right."

Kisuke stares at him, wide-eyed, as though he hadn't expected Ichigo to ever say that. And apparently, no one knows how to take it either because the entire room is gaping at him wordlessly. Next to Kisuke, Shinji frowns thoughtfully. But otherwise, there's a heavy sort of silence punctuated by Ichigo's rapid breathing and sizzling reiatsu.

Ichigo turns back towards the man who fathered him. Forcing his hands to unclench. Forcing himself to try and calm even though he can't seem to remember what calm is supposed to be.

"I could've used your help years ago." And somehow, he's calmer as he says it. As though he's waited a long time to let that out. "Now, it's just too little, too late. I don't need you anymore. And I don't want you here either." He glances at Shinji, who looks back at him evenly. "I'm just a guest here. But if it were up to me, I'd throw you out on your ass."

For the first time, an iota of sincere regret flickers across Isshin's face. "I'm so-"

Ichigo jabs a finger at him. "You don't get to say that."

Another step forward, putting them closer now. Almost as though Isshin thinks this can all be solved with a familial embrace and a pat on the back. Of course, those would be a first. Ichigo can count the number of times Isshin's hugged him on one hand and have fingers left over. There've been plenty of punches and kicks to the face in the name of training but little else. Not for him at least. Karin and Yuzu seem to have used up his quota between the two of them.

"Just give me the chance to explain," Isshin starts to say, but he's again cut off.

"You had one. Several years worth of them in fact," Ichigo retorts, and the heat to his tone becomes very frosty indeed. "Why'd you come here anyway? Decide it was finally time to fulfill some parental obligation you've neglected all this time. Or did you finally take pity on your poor, ignorant son?"

"None of the above," Isshin says slowly, carefully. As though well aware of the thin ice he's standing on and how much it's shifting, _cracking_ beneath him. "I came to help."

Ichigo snorts. The very gall of this man. To come here and offer that now of all times. Oh, he supposes that this very moment just happens to be convenient for the old fart. Now that everyone's done most of the work, Isshin thinks he can just stride right in, swing a zanpakutou, save the day, and all is forgiven.

No way in hell.

"Isn't that handy?" Ichigo asks, the sneer twisting his lips something ugly and spiteful. Something not even Shirosaki wears.

If his mother saw him now, she wouldn't recognize him. And Ichigo hates that Isshin has drawn this out in him. That he can fight Hollows and Espada and even sit down to dinner with Aizen fucking Sousuke, but that his own father makes him want to commit homicide. Patricide.

Ichigo takes a deep breath. More to keep himself busy than for actual calm.

"Must be nice to pick and choose like that," he replies finally. "To decide when it's convenient to remember your only son."

"I don't pick and choose, Ichigo. I'm your father. I love you."

Does he now?

He certainly doesn't act like it. Never has. Not unless it was convenient. When he'd ruffle Ichigo's hair in front of patients and never any other time. When he'd loudly proclaim his paternal pride in front of Ichigo's friends or his sisters but not when it was just the two of them. When Masaki had just died and Isshin wouldn't look him in the eye for months – _years_ – afterwards.

Ichigo glances at the gathered crowd then. "Oh, playing for the audience, are we? That one almost sounded convincing."

Isshin's mouth practically drops to the floor. And some part of him is vindicated as the bastard stutters. But Ichigo turns, unwilling to look at this man any longer or hear whatever he has to say. The rage inside of him is cold and chilling to the core, but it still needs an outlet, and Ichigo can feel himself shaking, each step wobbly and uncertain. He wants to scream or shout or cry or attack. Only he can't do any of it because he's tired of everyone seeing him at his weakest. At everyone and their brother choosing to kick him when he's already down and bleeding. He doesn't think the Vizard or Nel will. Not even Aizen, who's managed to be unexpectedly silent up to this point.

But Kisuke? His own damn father? He wouldn't put it past either of them.

And then someone grabs his arm. A grip that's firm and unyielding. One that demands and doesn't ask. There's a touch of reiatsu, painfully familiar now that Ichigo knows who it belongs to. He honestly wishes that he still didn't.

"Ichigo… _Son_."

His hand balls into a fist without his permission. And before he can stop himself, it slams a blow across Isshin's face. But at least that makes him let go.

"Fuck your explanation," he hisses as the crack of knuckles meeting nose and cheekbone echoes around the main room. "Fuck your comfort. And fuck you, too. As far as I'm concerned, you're just the bastard who was married to my mom. That sure as hell doesn't make you my father."

Isshin stumbles away from him, knocked half-senseless. Surprised and hurt all at once. Ichigo doesn't care. He shakes his hand where his knuckles have started to tingle and turns his back on Isshin. Ichigo stalks away, feeling a buzzing in the back of his skull that's growing louder and louder with each passing second. If he has to look at Isshin's stupid face one more second, he's going to do something much worse than punch him. It's going to be violent and bloody, and Ichigo will probably regret it later when his head isn't trying to explode and his heart doesn't hurt so much.

His first and immediate solace is to think of his bedroom. But no, Ichigo shares that with Kisuke – bastard that he is. He knew; he could've given Ichigo answers. Could've told Ichigo the truth years ago. Told him that no, he wasn't just some kind of human freak who had these immense powers from out of nowhere. That there was a reason he was so stupidly strong. He and Kisuke are lovers for fuck's sake, and Kisuke hadn't said anything. Had just pinched his lips and kept his secrets.

Well, fuck him. Fuck them all.

So no, he can't go back to the room he shares with Kisuke. And Ichigo changes directions to head for the training room. Somewhere he can blast away this anger without hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it. Somewhere Ichigo can leave those traitors behind in a cloud of dust and not have to look at either of them.

 _Lies_. _Secrets_. Well, they can keep them for all Ichigo cares.

"Asshole!"

There's an angered screech followed by a dull thump. Ichigo knows that voice though. Knows it's Hiyori. And he only needs one guess to think who her target might be, especially considering the cry of pain that immediately follows. Good. It serves Isshin right. Let him get a taste of what Ichigo's going through.

But another voice stops him right after he steps out of the room. Right before he can drop down into the underground cavern. And he turns, not surprised to find Shinji is the only one with enough balls to give chase.

"Don't talk to me," Ichigo says, surprising himself with his vehemence. "Don't talk to me unless you've got some answers. Unless you're willing to tell me the truth. Because I'm tired of games. I'm not playing them anymore."

Shinji looks at him with something akin to understanding and nods once. "All ya have ta do is ask, Ichigo. I've never lied to ya, and I'm not about to start now."

Ichigo stops and takes a deep breath. Puts a hand to his sternum to press against the pressure building there.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Leaning against the doorway, Shinji folds his arms over his chest. "At first, I didn't realize that ya didn't know. I even thought ya came ta us in the first place because Isshin said he knew us," he says quietly. "When I realized ya didn't, I thought it should be Kisuke's responsibility. He was yer teacher and then yer boyfriend. I gave him the chance. But he never took it. Then, Isshin showed up, and here we are."

Ichigo digests that. He can tell it's the truth. Besides, Shinji not saying anything is a thousand times different than Kisuke doing it. Than Kisuke not to give him a single fucking hint that Ichigo wasn't as abnormal as he's always believed.

"What else haven't they told me?" he questions then, figuring that at least Shinji's in a sharing mood. "What else don't I know?"

"It's hard to say," Shinji admits with a shrug. "'Cause I don't know what you've been told. Some of it I can't tell ya because I don't know myself. But I'll give ya what I can. It's about time someone did."

Ichigo snorts. "I'll let you know when I'm calm enough to listen," he says, turning back towards the underground room and lifting the hatch with an audible creak.

Shinji watches him, gaze steady and understanding. "We're here for ya," he comments softly, tone strange in that it lacks all edge of humor or veiled anger. Which makes Ichigo think Shinji's so damn furious he's beyond the point of civility.

Funny how Ichigo isn't worried about the recipient of Shinji's rage. He doesn't feel any sort of urge to ride to the rescue of Kisuke or Isshin. Not at the moment. Not anymore.

"I know," Ichigo replies and taps his fingers across the edge of the hatch. He feels so tired; it's hard to believe that it's not even noon yet. "I don't want to talk to either of them right now."

Shinji pushes up off the doorjamb. Hands dangling loose and unthreatening at his side. But even Ichigo can see the anger rippling through his body, making his motions rigid. Making his reiatsu vibrate with tension.

"I'll make sure of that."

It's a promise if Ichigo's ever heard one. He nods his thanks and drops down into the underground room below, letting the hatch slam closed above him.

All he wants is to be alone.


	25. Dissonance

Tense doesn't begin to describe the atmosphere hanging over the disguised warehouse like a brewing roil of thunderclouds. Kisuke can't ignore it. Even though he knows that the epicenter lies over Ichigo, who's stricken by a deeply-burning anger and the sting of betrayal.

Isshin hasn't left. Won't leave, in fact. He keeps trying to talk to his son, but Ichigo won't have any of it. He avoids his father as though the man is carrying a communicable plague with no cure. Kisuke is surprised that Isshin hasn't given up yet, but then, Isshin has known to be tenacious even beyond the point of annoyance.

Kisuke wanders to their bedroom and nearly stutters at the sight of his lover within. He's very obviously shoving things into a bag. Ichigo notices him immediately; how can he not when they've become so closely intertwined that their reiatsu is recognizable even with careful shielding? But the look he gives the shopkeeper is only a bare flicker of his eyes before he returns to the dresser.

"I'm not sharing a room with you right now," Ichigo says tightly, face pinched and dark. Troubled. Hand momentarily leaving the drawer to rub at his chest.

Kisuke hates himself for being the cause of that.

The silence between them is uncomfortable, too weighted and thick with the still unspoken. Guilt and regret tumble one over the other in Kisuke's heart. And he knows he needs and wants to apologize. Wonders if Ichigo will even accept it. He wonders if Ichigo will ever forgive him, and that particular thought strikes a painful chord. A ripping pang that makes a whole bunch of other things suddenly make sense.

Kisuke doesn't want Ichigo to leave. He can't think of anything else he doesn't want to have happen less. There's something inside of him, perched on an edge. Breathless and worried that the next words out of Ichigo's mouth are going to be ' _stay away from me, never talk to me again, never so much as_ _ **look**_ _at me._ ' And that possibility stabs through him like a physical pain.

He shifts, discomfited. Searching for the things to say and not for the first time, stumbling over them. He is not – and Kisuke reluctantly admits this to himself – the grand artist of words like that traitor Aizen. He can insult slyly if need be, but Kisuke has always been better with science and death. Not connections to other people. And like always, eloquence fails him when he needs it most.

"I never knew you considered yourself a freak," Kisuke says quietly as the argument from just that morning runs over and over in his mind. One statement in particular standing out.

"I'd have thought it was obvious," Ichigo replies tightly, voice barely controlled and reiatsu simmering around him like a heat wave. "The only human with fucking Shinigami powers? And every time we turned around, they were morphing into something else? Something twisted and perverse, even for a world filled with Hollows and Shinigami and amalgams of the two." His lover shakes his head, restrained anger in his movements as he turns to look at Kisuke. "Save me the bullshit by not lying. Just tell me, weren't there times even _you_ were baffled by my progress?"

Kisuke shifts again uneasily, but he's already promised himself he's not going to lie to Ichigo again. Or evade the truth. He owes this man that much.

"I never claimed to be an expert," Kisuke returns, stomach clenching at the mixture of emotion on Ichigo's face. He never expected to the cause of that. "Not even after my creation of the Hougyoku. But yes, I'm still surprised by the extent of your abilities. And I still can't explain them."

Ichigo nods once. "Exactly," he confirms and twists his jaw. "So yeah, there were times I hated that I couldn't define what I was." He turns away then, shoulders shaking with a mocking chuckle. "In fact, I still can't. But whatever. Not that it matters. Shinigami. Human. Vizard. Hollow. They're all the same. A bunch of lying backstabbers."

Kisuke doesn't know how to respond to that. To any of it. But he still tries.

"Ichigo-"

"How many times? How many chances?"

Ichigo's questions cut through his uncertain words like a knife through tissue paper. But he addresses the wall, refusal to look at Kisuke like a physical attack.

"It never once occurred to you to tell me the truth?"

The blond draws in a slow, steady breath. "I've known Isshin for a very long time," he explains carefully, despite knowing that this is nothing more than an excuse. "He asked me to keep his secret, and I obliged. A decision that I very much regret."

"Why? Because it backfired?" Something is pulled out of the dresser and shoved into the bag in Ichigo's other hand.

Flinching, Kisuke chews his bottom lip. "No. Because Isshin's not the one who deserves my loyalty."

Ichigo snorts. "Obviously. He doesn't deserve much of anyone's loyalty," he mutters bitterly.

And there's hurt in his voice. Much more than there was before. It's deeper, too. Familial. Pain caused by a father to his son. Caused by Isshin. And Kisuke wishes more than anything that he could fix it.

"I wanted to tell you," the ex-captain continues and shakes his head. "I don't know how many times I argued with myself over what I should to do. I know that's not an excuse-"

"No, it's not," Ichigo interrupts sharply and slams the drawer closed, finally turning to face him. The darkness buried in Ichigo's eyes makes his heart clench. "If you were so damn loyal to Isshin, then you never should've crawled into my bed in the first place. After you crossed that line, your first thoughts shouldn't have been about that coward."

Kisuke can't hide his flinch this time. Not when he knows that Ichigo is right. And he wonders if maybe, it really is just an excuse. If he hides behind his promise to Isshin in order to conceal more painful truths about himself. Since once Kisuke starts admitting one secret, then all the others will start tumbling out of him, too. And there's a large part of Kisuke that fears what Ichigo will think of him in the end. That fears once Ichigo learns all the nasty bits of his past that his lover will do the smart thing and turn away.

"You're right," the blond admits, and Ichigo's eyes widen in surprise. "It was an error in judgment on my part. I'm sure Isshin has his reasons as well, but I've never-"

"Don't," Ichigo interrupts coldly. "Don't try to stick up for him. Quit _protecting_ him. He doesn't need it, and he doesn't deserve it either."

And once again, Kisuke's friendship with Isshin clashes with his relationship with Ichigo. He feels caught between them, and he keeps wavering on the fence. Leaning backwards and forwards and sideways until he's dizzy.

"He's still my friend," the shopkeeper finally says, impossibly tired and still contrite. "It comes with the territory."

Ichigo pauses, bag clutched in his hand. "Still your friend?" he repeats. "Of course he is."

Kisuke sighs. Long and hard and deep. He doesn't at all like Ichigo's tone. Angry but resigned more than anything. And tired. As if he's stopped caring.

"Yes, he is," Kisuke insists, daring to take a step forward. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry that I thought a promise to him was still important. I'm sorry for ev-"

"Stop apologizing when you don't really mean it."

Ichigo doesn't shout that. Actually says it calmly. But anger turns into a rippling force around his body, lashing out but never quite touching Kisuke. Somehow, the blond thinks it would be kinder if Ichigo actually did.

"If not an apology, then what?" Kisuke asks, feeling frustrated himself, and hurt, too. "What is it you want from me?"

"I want you to look at me, dammit," Ichigo demands then, breathing sharp and pained. One hand slaps at his chest, probably harsher than he intended. "Me! Not the pitiful son of your best friend. Not the hero who has nightmares from a war he never should've fought. Not just a replacement for Shihouin Yoruichi! But me! Ichigo! Just look at me. For once in your life, look at me."

Kisuke swallows. The tension in the room swirls around him. Tangling with Ichigo's reiatsu to a suffocating level.

"It's not that simple."

Ichigo growls, a sound of pure aggravation as he throws his bag over his shoulder. "What? Is that the fucking standard answer for you guys? ' _It's not that simple._ '" At his sides, his hands clench into fists.

He doesn't wait for Kisuke's answer. Instead giving him a hard, lingering look.

"Forget it," he all but hisses. "I'm done here."

Ichigo stalks from the room. And for the life of him, Kisuke can't make his feet move to chase after. Not when he knows such a thing will only anger Ichigo further. He doesn't know the words to say. How to apologize. He doesn't know how to make things right.

Kisuke sighs, lifting his gaze to stare around the room he and Ichigo shared for such a short time. Both of them are already evident in every pile of disarray. In the reiatsu that soaks the walls and furniture. In the lingering scent, a mixture of their soaps and Ichigo's natural musk. An intoxicating, sweetly-spicy scent.

Footsteps appear in the doorway behind Kisuke him then, and he's not so foolish as to think they belong to Ichigo. No, Ichigo has made it quite clear that he's furious and has no interest in talking things out. At least, not right now. And Kisuke can't say that he blames him.

He never should have made that stupid promise to Isshin. No, more than that. Kisuke never should have fucking kept it. What does he owe Isshin? Nothing compared to what he owes Ichigo. At the very least his life. His sanity. His soul.

"So… when were you going to tell me that you're fucking my son?"

Kisuke sighs, twitching. Just what he needs. Another confrontation.

"Your son is a full grown man, Isshin. In case you missed that part. He hardly needs daddy to tell him who he can and can't sleep with." Kisuke turns slowly to regard Isshin, who's standing in the doorway with a look of barely restrained violence. "And please, spare me any drivel regarding age or status. You know good and well that in Ichigo's case, a mere human is no option. They'd never be able to understand him. Much less empathize with his past."

Isshin's mouth forms a thin, hard line. "Fine, then I won't. But I do know _you_ , and I know what you've done. Ichigo deserves someone better."

More remorse ripples through Kisuke, but he bats it away with a firm hand and an even firmer swat. He owes his regret to the son, not the father. And since the father is the cause of this whole mess, Kisuke doesn't owe Isshin a damn thing.

"Isshin, I'm almost insulted."

The brunet all but snarls at him. "Dammit, Kisuke. This isn't a game. This is my son we're talking about here!"

Kisuke tilts his head, grateful for the shading his hat gives him. "I'm well aware of that. But I can't change the past. And if you think you can, feel free to name someone who you believe would be better suited." His eyes narrow of their own accord. "Even better, why don't you form a list? Just make sure I'm there when you give it to Ichigo so I can see the look on his face."

The idea of such is laughable; Kisuke can see that going over _so_ well. Ichigo might not be happy with his lover right now, but he won't take too kindly to Isshin trying to police his romantic decisions either. And that sort of behavior would only push Ichigo further away.

Isshin snorts, power rising around him. Flickering around his body with violent intent. But not as strong and stifling as Kisuke remembers.

"Don't pretend that you're offended," Isshin retorts. "Ichigo's not mad at you because of me. I'm not the only liar here."

Kisuke feels himself bristle because he knows it's the damn truth. He's not mad at Isshin so much as he's furious with himself. For not telling Ichigo sooner. For keeping Isshin's secret when the man didn't deserve that courtesy.

He sucks in a breath. "Don't go there." Tone low and dangerous. If there's one thing he's not going to do, it's let Isshin pretend that he's not at fault. "I promised I'd allow you to tell him because that's what you wanted." Kisuke chuckles, but it's dark and mocking. "How could I have known that you'd be too much of a coward to ever say anything."

Isshin's reiatsu ripples. "Cowardice? That's rich. Coming from you."

Fingers curling around Benihime's hilt, her outrage is that much more clearer. "What's that supposed to mean?" Kisuke demands.

And he reminds himself that attacking Isshin is not going to make his lover any happier. Despite Ichigo's own displeasure with his father.

Isshin steps further into the room. Trying for the big and intimidating approach Kisuke assumes. And yes, it burns that Isshin is larger than him. But size isn't everything, and Kisuke was once a in the second division. And for good reason. Even Isshin knows that. Former royal guard or not.

"How much does Ichigo know about you?" Isshin demands with obvious aggression. "How much does he really know? Does he know about the second division? About the Maggot's Nest? Does he know all the dirty little things you used to do for the Shihouin? Better yet, does he know about Yoruichi?"

Kisuke stiffens. Years of subtle rejection and even better proof of it in the form of a letter doesn't mean he's completely forgotten about her. Even if she's been mostly replaced by another figure. Kisuke spends a lot less time thinking about Yoruichi and lot more time thinking about how to apologize and be believed because he's so full of honest regret.

"What about her?" the blond knows he sounds defensive, but he can't help it. Isshin's jabbing at an open wound; it's distinctly unfair of him to do so.

"Don't play your mind games with me, Kisuke," his friend snarls. "Everyone in Soul Society knows your feelings for her. If you're just playing with my son-"

Kisuke laughs. Which effectively cuts into Isshin's diatribe.

"Please. Don't pull that sanctimonious father bullshit with me," he inserts with another chuckle. "It didn't fool Ichigo, and it's not going to fool me. He's got more than enough defenders ready to rip off my balls and feed them to me. He doesn't need your belated protection."

"He's still my son, and you're even more of a fool than I thought if you believe I'm just going to let this slide without saying anything." Isshin shakes his head, rubbing fingers across his forehead. "How the hell did you convince him? Ichigo likes _girls_. Women. Not perverted shopkeepers who've had _more_ than enough influence on him."

Kisuke, rather than be pissed, finds himself laughing again. Isshin is so oblivious; he knows nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"You call yourself his father?" he questions, incredulous. "When everyone and their brother knows about Ichigo's little fling with Ukitake?"

Isshin's eyes widen to an almost comical level. "Ukitake Jyuushiro?" he repeats, sounding strangled. "As in the very same man old enough to be grandfather?"

"Slipped your notice, did it?" Kisuke puts in smugly.

But that's before his tone shifts to ice because unlike Isshin, he remembers. He was _there_ when Ukitake turned his back on Ichigo. When Ukitake valued more what Ichigo could do for him and Soul Society at large than what they could've been together.

"And you were too wrapped up in yourself that you couldn't even be there when Ukitake made the worst mistake of his life."

Isshin freezes, hand falling to the hilt of his zanpakutou automatically. "What did he do?" he demands. Tone low and furious. Hinting of threat.

Waving a hand, Kisuke tries to head off Isshin's jump to conclusions before it results in an idiotic attack on Seireitei. "Nothing as violent as what you're thinking, but that doesn't mean it hurt any less." And his tone softens, thinking more of Ichigo before he even concerns himself with Isshin's reaction. "He walked away. Walked away and didn't come back. Didn't _dare_ come back."

Quiet accompanies Kisuke's words before Isshin's brow furrows. "It was just a fling," he scoffs, as though it's that easy to dismiss Ichigo and Ukitake's relationship and all the depths that it held. "You said so yourself! What did you expect? Rings and wedding bells?"

"There probably would've been if Shunsui'd had his way."

Isshin visibly halts. "What?"

And his voice is soft. Gentle like he can't believe what he's just heard. Like he can't believe his son was that serious about someone – about another man – and he missed it. Too busy covering up his own lies to see the truth smacking him in the face. Kisuke can only wonder if he would've missed the wedding too had they actually managed to get that far.

"But you wouldn't know about that, would you?" It's a rhetorical question, and Kisuke doesn't wait for the answer. "You don't know anything about him at all. That his so-called fling with Ukitake lasted over a year."

"He's my son," Isshin defends with a lift of his chin. "Of course, I know him."

"Do you? Do you really?" Only this time, it's less rhetorical. "Can you name the friends he's lost? The people he's killed? What keeps him up at night and why?" And Kisuke can't help the absolute derision in his tone. "Gods above and below, Isshin. Everyone had a hand in raising him, in seeing him through the war but you. Shunsui was a better father to him, and Ichigo knew him for all of three years. _Shinji_ 's been a better father to him. Kuchiki Byakuya's been there more. The guy who tried to execute his own sister!" He throws his hands out for emphasis before bringing one back to rub at his temple. "There aren't words for how utterly fucked up that is."

"Like I need you to lecture me about fatherhood." Isshin jabs out a finger. "About responsibility in general! This coming from the man who stuffed an innocent girl full of the Hougyoku. And need I remind you, that you also sent four human teenagers to retrieve it for you without even telling them why. Without telling them that they'd have not only the entire Gotei 13 out for their heads but also a sociopath bent on world domination. Tell me, Kisuke, who the responsible one is here."

"Th-that has nothing to do with right now." The blond shakes his head. "Nothing at all. And can you even hear yourself?"

Isshin snorts, fingers now forming into fists as he stares at Kisuke as though he's never seen him before. "I know what I'm saying. And I'm wondering when the hell your need to fuck my son outweighed our friendship."

Kisuke chokes on his next breath, and it takes every ounce of his control not to strike Isshin then and there. For him to cheapen Kisuke's feelings like that is unforgivable as well as hypocritical. If that's all he believes of Kisuke, then obviously their friendship has little value.

Ichigo is and has always been more than just a convenient bed partner. He doesn't feel the need to spell this out to Isshin because it's none of the man's business. But it's the goddamned truth.

Instead of striking out, as Kisuke so dearly wants to, he forces his grip away from Benihime. He draws in a long, tight breath.

"Why did you come here, Isshin?" he asks quietly because if doesn't shift the conversation to the real problem, he'll hurt this man.

"Because he's my son."

Kisuke rolls his eyes. "He's always been your son. That excuse would've worked years ago. Or even months ago when I showed up at your house with Aizen in tow. Why are you really here?"

Isshin shifts in discomfort before he heaves out a huge exhale and rakes a hand through his dark hair. "The Shinigami appeared at our house. But luckily, they sent the brat who'd sooner stab himself than let Karin get hurt." Isshin can't quite hide the scowl that follows, obviously not happy about that particular relationship. "Still, it opened my eyes. They're not going to let him go this time. They want my son dead."

"Not ' _they_ '. It's not everyone," Kisuke corrects quietly. "Ichigo has plenty of allies on his side. But until we figure out exactly what we're going to do, they can't act."

"Yeah? And how many of those allies are going to stay that way when they realize just who's following Ichigo around like a stray dog?" Isshin demands. "Forgive me if I don't have faith in your contacts or your century-old infatuation."

Kisuke fights back a sigh. "Why must you persist in bringing up the past, Isshin? It's not helping things at all." He moves further into the bedroom and lowers himself into a chair; it's piled with dirty clothes that are a mixture of Ichigo's and his own. "Getting angry with me is neither going to absolve your guilt or encourage Ichigo to forgive you."

"But it's a damn good start."

Another sigh attempts to escape from Kisuke's lips. Isshin is so damn stubborn, and it's all the shopkeeper can do not to storm from the room and turn his back on the man. Kisuke keeps clinging to what he hopes is the truth. That Isshin is his friend and hasn't forgotten that fact. Kisuke's already ruined one relationship today; he doesn't want to ruin another. But he also won't give Ichigo up either. He can't.

He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to meet Isshin's directly.

"I'm not letting him go," Kisuke says firmly, allowing to Isshin see the determination there. The resolve and the challenge. "And it's not your decision to make anyway. It's Ichigo's."

"He doesn't know you like I do," Isshin snaps.

And there's a dangerous edge to his voice. One that speaks of sharper, more painful truths. Of things that Isshin _does_ know and Ichigo doesn't. The sort of things that could ruin Kisuke if they come from a mouth other than his own. Things he still needs to admit to his lover.

"You'll just fuck him and leave," the brunet accuses then. "Like you always did."

Kisuke jerks to his feet, chair nearly tipping over. It takes him a few seconds to regain control. And when he does, his voice is little more than a hiss.

"Isshin, I'm your friend," he interrupts as his insides grow cold. "And for the sake of that friendship, do not finish that thought."

Isshin's expression is thunderous. "But-"

" _Don't!_ "

And mercifully, his mouth clamps shut as Kisuke's demand rips through the room. The tension is so thick now that not even a zanpakutou could cut through. The blond drags in several ragged breaths, staring at the man who's supposed among his dearest friends but who's apparently lost all faith in him along the way. And Kisuke's the foolish idiot who actually protected his secret to the detriment of his own lover!

They stare at each other for what feels like an hour. But it's more like a few agonizing minutes in time. Kisuke struggling to keep his anger and hurt in check. Isshin fighting the words that want to spill from his mouth. The words that will end their friendship without a snowflake's chance in hell of reconciliation.

But then, heaven sends a messenger. One wrapped in the guise of an idiot or a devil. Perhaps both.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" he drawls from the doorway.

Both Isshin and Kisuke startle in surprise. The brunet turns to look, and Kisuke has to lean around his bulk to see Shinji standing there. Irritation has already darkened his eyes, though his tone borders on playful.

"I'm so glad ta see ya gettin' along," Shinji continues as he strides into the room with reiatsu vibrating around him in a tangible buzz. "Since ya did such a great job of blindsidin' poor Ichigo and all."

Kisuke is pained. Incredibly so. Starting in his head and shooting straight to his heart. Intersecting everything in between.

"It wasn't like that," he tries to explain.

But at the same time, Isshin seems perfectly willing to point the blame all in his direction. A meaty finger thrusts toward him.

"He's the one fucking my son, Hirako," Isshin bites out. "So don't start that shit with me."

It happens so quickly, and Kisuke is reeling from the blow before he knows enough to block. Benihime keens in hurt and rattles in her cane sheath. Isshin staggers, far out of practice and far out of strength. Too weak to be in this fight should things truly turn nasty.

But thankfully, it doesn't. Not yet. All that happens is another whip of Shinji's reiatsu through the room. One that again smacks both Isshin and Kisuke with enough force to knock them senseless for a few precious seconds. Rage and annoyance and disgust all swirl together, fueling the Vizard's obvious displeasure. All trace of humor is gone from his face. Leaving nothing but a narrow-eyed glare that focuses on his companions as though they're nothing more than a pair of misbehaving five-year-olds fighting over the last cookie.

"Both of ya are gonna shut up and pay attention," Shinji announces, his reiatsu still swirling around him. As though in preparation to strike out again at an instance's notice. "Damn it, kids. I'm not supposed ta feel like the adult here. I'm not Ichigo's dad. But fuck! Somebody's got to look out fer his best interest, and it sure as hell isn't the two of you."

Mercifully, Isshin refrains from making a phenomenally stupid comment. And Kisuke, for his part, doesn't even know where to begin. He knows he fucked up. A mistake of Ukitake Jyuushiro proportions. He doesn't need another reminder.

Shinji draws in a deep breath and rubs his fingers over his forehead. Stressed and strained both.

"Now," he says slowly, beginning a careful pace in the middle of the room between the two original combatants. "I've got a pissed off Vizard fumin' in my bedroom because his father and lover can't get their acts together. It's not that I mind Ichigo's presence. But right now, he's not exactly a bundle of joy, and that kid's suffered too much recently ta have ta deal with yer issues on top of everything else."

He whirls and focuses his glare on Kisuke. For his part, the young blond tries not to fidget like a teenager caught smoking in the bathroom at school. He fails spectacularly.

" _You_." And he points a finger at Kisuke as though there were any doubt to the subject of his fury at the present moment. "Either tell Ichigo the whole truth or don't bother talking ta him. He won't settle for anything less, and neither will I. We've had enough of yer shit ta last a lifetime."

Kisuke opens his mouth. Since he's not about to let Shinji tell him what to do.

At least, not entirely. Besides, he doesn't know the whole story.

"And yes, it _is_ my fucking business," Shinji interjects before Kisuke can so much as get the first word out. "Ya made it my business when ya stopped acting like a grown-ass man and started pretending your secrets were more important than Ichigo. Gods, Kisuke. At the very least, he's supposed ta be your friend. Quite possibly your best friend. And ya treat him like ya don't even care."

Kisuke's mouth clamps shut as guilt replaces the indignation, and he jerks his head in an approximation of a nod. Thoroughly chastised. He knows Shinji's right. Kisuke just hates that he's receiving a dressing down and in front of Isshin to boot. The only way this could possibly be worse is if Aizen was eavesdropping out in the hallway. Which Kisuke wouldn't put past the evil bastard.

Shinji looks at him again, eyes searching and hopefully finding something of worth. "Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

Kisuke has to force the word out.

Seemingly satisfied by this, Shinji turns and focuses on then Isshin. Who's trying and failing to not look smug. But Kisuke knows the Vizard leader, and Shinji's not going to let Isshin go without a tongue-lashing.

"And you."

Shinji stalks toward Isshin until he stands less than a foot away. Intimidating the other man with his presence the same way Isshin had attempted to intimidate Kisuke earlier.

"Ya can stop pretending you're not at fault. 'Cause from where I'm standing, you're the chief suspect, Isshin," Shinji reprimands. "Are ya trying to cause chaos? Is that your goal wherever ya go, or is it just an unwelcome accident?"

Isshin's eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches noticeably. "I came for Ichigo. Not to hear one of your lectures. You may be able to get away with that with him." And he jerks his head at Kisuke. "But you forget. I'm older than you, boy. A lot older," he declares and draws himself up to his full height. Which is quite a bit more than Shinji.

Isshin is a far braver man than Kisuke. Stupider, too. Obviously, Shinji's reiatsu slap hadn't been strong enough. Definitely not since it hadn't managed to knock some sense into him.

Shinji though just squares his shoulders and tilts his head up. "Ya really sure that I'm the boy here? Sure as hell doesn't seem like it. And if ya don't listen to me, then ya can just march back home, wrap yourself in your secrets, and continue ta pretend that the Shinigami and Soul Society have nothing to do with ya." He smiles, and it's razor sharp. "Oh. Right. You're pretty good at that already. Aren't ya, Isshin?"

His face reddens. Kisuke can't be sure if it's from anger or humiliation. He simply watches as Isshin's fingers clench and unclench, body still as stone.

"Don't talk that way about me or my son. You don't have the right."

Shinji gives him a disbelieving snort. "I can talk however the hell I want. Yer not my dad. And half the damn time, yer not really Ichigo's either. Tell me, how long did it even take ya ta notice that he'd been hauled away by the Shinigami? A few hours? Days? A week?"

Fury ripples outward from Isshin. Visible like a heat mirage. But it's so weak compared to his former strength. To the power strong enough to rival Shunsui or Ukitake or perhaps even Unohana-san.

"He's my _son_ ," Isshin growls, sounding as though he's about ten seconds away from launching himself at Shinji. "I'm tired of everyone telling me they know how to handle him better." More reiatsu gathers around him like a sky forming storm clouds. "And I'm really fucking sick of-"

A wave of reiatsu keeps him from responding further. And it's enough to force him to his knees. Enough to keep him in place and potentially make him listen. At least, that's what Kisuke hopes Shinji is trying to do. Since none of the alternatives are at all pretty.

His reiatsu is hard. Harsh even. But Shinji's voice when he speaks is soft. Almost gentle.

"Look, Isshin... I know he's yer kid. And I know that half the time you really have no idea what ta do with him," Shinji says, and some of the tension is gone from his posture, leaving worry in its place. "That the girls are easier for ya and that ya can at least talk ta them. But Ichigo... he really needed ya. During the war. He needed somebody, and-"

"He needs me now," Isshin manages to spit out.

"No... Not in the way ya think. He's not a boy anymore, Isshin. He's not the little kid who clutched at Masaki's skirts. Or the baby who threw up on Hiyori."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kisuke can't help but snort at the memory of that one. Isshin was so damn excited after Ichigo's birth, all but rushing off to proudly display his new son to his old friends. Kisuke was the first to meet the oddly quiet, orange-headed infant. He remembers looking at Ichigo and thanking every god known to man that the kid looked nothing like Isshin.

Of course, Shinji ruined it later by saying Ichigo was every ounce the Shiba blood in him. And maybe even a smidgeon of all that Kuchiki, too. Kisuke recalls Hiyori being fascinated by a person so tiny. He remembers the others crowding around Isshin's little bundle of joy, their faces a mixture of wonder, surprise, envy.

But more than that, Kisuke remembers Isshin as he was then. A proud father. So damn happy that rainbows practically sparkled in his eyes and a cheerful soundtrack followed him wherever he went. Kisuke remembers being a bit jealous himself, wondering what it'd be like to love something so fiercely, to have a family be that precious. And perhaps those emotions were what drove him to create Jinta and Ururu.

Shinji's voice drags Kisuke out of his recollections and thoughtful muses on the past. Along with pangs of nostalgia for times long gone.

"He's an adult, Isshin," Shinji comments pointedly. "Has been for years. He can make his own choices. Even if they're bad ones." His eyes flicker momentarily to Kisuke before straying away. A warning perhaps. "And he really doesn't need this right now. So yeah. Fine. Be mad at each other. But keep it quiet. And keep it where he can't see. Act like the fucking adults you're both supposed ta be."

Isshin's glare of indignation lasts for all a moment before it withers under the calm, intelligent gaze that Shinji gives him in return. And then, Isshin nods sharply. Smart to bow down before a man more powerful than both he and Kisuke. Sometimes, he even thinks Shinji might be wiser, too.

The Vizard stops his pacing and eyes both of them equally. As though daring them to argue. Daring them to contradict his valid and truthful statements. Several long seconds pass before Shinji seems satisfied.

"And that's all I have ta say about that," he declares and turns to leave, brushing past and getting all the way to the door before another thought strikes him.

Shinji pauses. Shifts back toward Isshin with words obviously for him alone.

"Ichigo's a pretty cool guy," Shinji informs him. "I think that if ya ever got your head outta your ass and actually talked to him like an equal, ya'd realize that, Isshin."

Then, he walks out the door. They can only stare after him.

And suddenly, Kisuke is tired. He's beginning to understand what Ichigo meant. All this stress and tension, it's tiring. All Kisuke wants to do is crawl into bed and hopefully wake up tomorrow to a better, less confusing world. It's a childish dream to believe, but sometimes, he thinks all of them are due that sort of wishful thinking.

"Che."

Isshin sniffs and tosses an annoyed look the blond's direction before whirling on his heel. "It's not worth the effort anyway," he mutters as though it was his decision all along and Shinji's chastisement has nothing to do with it.

Isshin leaves the room, taking his swirl of reiatsu with him. Kisuke is left to his own devices and thoughts once again. The chair is still behind him, and he drops back down into it with all the grace of a rockslide. He rubs a hand over his forehead, though it does nothing to quell the ache inside of his skull. Kisuke knows that Shinji's right. He either tells Ichigo everything, or he doesn't fight for Ichigo at all. And Kisuke can't stomach the thought of the latter. Not anymore. Just considering it makes something inside of him twist with agony. As strong as a zanpakutou through the gut.

Thinking of Yoruichi has never hurt this much. Never made him feel like his heart would beat out of his chest. Like he wants nothing more than to lie down and die.

And it hits Kisuke then. In a matter not unlike the force of a Vasto Lorde's cero. He feels bulldozed and steamrolled all at once as the truth crashes over him like a tidal wave. Pouring through his body, spreading to all his extremities, settling with a final validity inside his heart. Nesting. Filling in all the niches. Shocking the hell out of him even as it drips into his belly and fills him with warmth.

He's in love with Ichigo.

He doesn't know when it happened. Or why he hasn't noticed sooner. Or why it has taken a lot of bullshit, angst, and _Hirako Shinji_ to make him realize. But realize it he has. And the epiphany is startling. But warming as well. Like the cozy heat of a fireplace in winter or the gentle embrace of a lover's arms.

Kisuke stares into nothing as the understanding blazes through him like the harsh staccato of some instrumental song. Other things make sense now. Other little pieces of a puzzle that's now been put together and on display for all the world to see. Little hints. Things he's done that didn't make sense at the time. Things others have said and the peculiar gleam to their eyes.

He's in love with Ichigo.

Kisuke's both giddy and full of despair. Higher than the mountaintops and nearly dizzy with the lack of air. Lighter than he has been in ages. In decades. Centuries even. Since he was a captain and had the insane idea to start a science division.

But he's also impossibly heavy. Grinded into the dirt. Has drug a deep hole and taken a flying leap over the edge.

Why couldn't he have realized this yesterday? Yesterday… when he still had a chance to explain before Isshin dropped the bomb on all of them? Even last night when he and Ichigo were going to sleep? When they curled together in contented silence? When they just lay there looking at each other for what seemed like hours? When he had so many chances over the last two months and the years before that?

And now, all those chances are gone. And so is Ichigo.

Like with all things he's ever had, Kisuke can't keep him. Can't keep anything. Can't have anything. Not if he truly values it. Not if it's of worth. He loses everything in the end. Just like he always has.

Yoruichi. Captaincy. His shop. Now Ichigo, too.

But somehow, this loss hurts worse than all the others.


	26. Interlude Five: This is War

Isshin often wonders where he went wrong. When life started to hate him. When his kids started to hate him.

Maybe it's just a recent thing. Maybe it began when he told his daughters about his former life as a Shinigami. When Yuzu blinked at him with large and wet eyes. Disappointment so evident that Isshin felt like a kid again, being lectured by his grandmother. When she just shook her head and went upstairs without another word. Karin, however, was far from silent. She delivered a firm punch to the gut followed by a glare and informed him in clipped, icy tones that she'd already known. That her little boyfriend had told her when it became apparent that she had no clue about her own father.

Perhaps it was then. Maybe that's when it all fell apart. But it could've been earlier.

These days, Isshin can't tell.

Actually scratch that.

Isshin's pretty sure he knows exactly when and where it everything went sour. It was when Masaki died and he let Ichigo drift away. When he let Ichigo go his own way, convinced he'd eventually come back, and didn't insist on following. When he stood back and to the side. When he should've taken Ichigo by the arm and brought him home. When he should've put his foot down and said no. Said that enough was enough.

But Isshin knows as surely as he still breathes that if he'd done that Ichigo wouldn't have listened. That his son would've walked out and not returned. That their only contact would've been through the twins. That he would've lost Ichigo forever.

Ichigo has too much Shiba and far too much Kuchiki in him. And neither of them has ever been good with ultimatums. Handing them out certainly. But not taking them from others.

Or maybe Ichigo is just too much his mother's son. Too much the woman who stood up to bullies big and small, weak and strong with her chin lifted and her resolve firmed. Too much the woman who was kind to everyone and willing to help whenever needed, even if it cost her. The woman who sacrificed her time and energy for others without thought to herself. The woman who would die for her son without hesitation and actually did.

That was Masaki. That was his wife. And really, that is Ichigo and Karin and Yuzu. All three of them are her reflection but in different ways. Wonderful and beautiful and strong. The part of her that didn't go away when she did. The part he'll always treasure.

Isshin loved Masaki from the first moment she called him an idiot and stomped on his foot. And he knew then with a surety that should've frightened him that she was meant to be his wife. It'd taken a while to convince her of that fact, or maybe she just enjoyed watching him struggle and make a fool of himself, but he hasn't looked at another woman since. Not even after she was gone. Not even when he was overwhelmed and alone and dying inside.

And Isshin hopes that Ichigo can find that, too. That all of his children can. He has his suspicions about Karin. And say what he will about the kid – who will of course never be good enough for her in a million years – Hitsugaya Toushirou loves her. He might not have come out and said it yet, but Isshin knows. Can see it in the way his eyes follow Karin regardless of where she is in the room. How he always finds her first no matter who else is there. That he'd risk his job and his freedom and probably even his life just to send her letters.

Isshin also wants that for his other kids. For Yuzu, who practically has to beat the boys off with a stick most days. For Ichigo, who has suffered and lost so much already. He thought maybe the Kuchiki girl could be that for him. Maybe even cute Orihime-chan, though Isshin seriously doubted that one. But nothing ever happened. They were never anything more than friends. And yes, Isshin watched whenever they came around just to be sure.

Later, he believed it could be dear Haruhi. She was so normal and practical and calm. She suffered his theatrics without a word of complaint and didn't look the slightest bit put out. She just ignored it and kept going. She was good for Ichigo. And he was good for her. And Isshin hoped that they would get back together, settle, and maybe even give him grandkids a bit earlier than he'd dreamed.

That didn't happen, however. And now, it never will. Not with Seireitei out for Ichigo's head and Kon living in his body. Not with Ichigo on the run. And certainly not with Kisuke fucking him. Isshin's so-called best friend!

And he knows Kisuke. Knows what he did in the past. For the second division. For the Shihouin. For Yoruichi personally. Knows that he's at best a casual lover and never keeps anyone longer than a few months. Knows exactly where he's been and with whom. Knows that Ichigo is better off without him.

Gods be damned, he hadn't even realized that Ichigo likes other men. That his first love _was_ a man! He missed Ukitake entirely. Wouldn't have known without Urahara fucking Kisuke telling him and then Lisa, Love, and Rose all confirming it. Isshin hadn't noticed at all. Hadn't even seen a hint. No long sighs or staring into space. Not even a damn smile. No signs of a lovesick teenager. Ichigo was the same as always. Focused. Driven. Impossibly tired from fighting.

But he wasn't beaten down. He wasn't giving up or falling apart. And maybe that should've been Isshin's first clue. Should've told him that someone was taking care of his son. That Ichigo had found a true and solid support. Something different than his friends, who were in similar and oftentimes worse straights. Something deeper than help from brothers in arms or a casual shoulder to lean on.

Ukitake though. Never would Isshin have guessed that one. That his son was even receptive to him.

Seriously, come on! Ukitake's practically asexual. Isshin can't remember him so much as going on a date the entire time he's known the guy, which is quite a bit longer that even he's willing to admit. He supposes that Ukitake did, and he just didn't notice or care to see. But still, Ukitake should've known better. Should've known that Ichigo was just a kid. Just a boy, a teenager. That he wasn't even old enough to drink!

Isshin can't comprehend what the hell Ukitake was thinking. How it even happened in the first place. Or what his son saw in a two thousand year old man. Why he thought it a good idea.

But then, Isshin never could figure out Ichigo's motivations. Why his son does and says certain things that make absolutely no goddamned sense until after the fact.

And kami on high, his mom was right; boys _are_ hard. So much harder than his two little girls. He can pull faces and smile and play the idiot. And they're always ready to laugh. For different reasons to be sure, but it's there all the same. Yuzu because she thinks he's silly. Karin because she loves fighting back and getting one over him. And maybe because it means he's still paying attention. Underneath the sarcasm, she's still the same girl with doe eyes who hid behind his legs.

But boys… But Ichigo? He was always so hard. Even from the beginning. Even when he was just a baby and would cry if Isshin even tried to hold him. And then later on as he became a toddler and always looked for Masaki first. When he'd only take his dad if there was no other choice. Gods above and below, he even liked Ryuuken better. That bastard Shinji got grins and giggles more easily.

It only became worse after Masaki died. Honestly, Isshin sometimes thinks he died, too. Thinks that all of this is just a dream and the chasm in his soul really did swallow him whole.

And truth be told, this was when it went wrong. When Isshin screamed and ached and hemorrhaged until there was nothing left inside of him at all. When there was only emptiness and the sound of his daughters crying in the background. When he could hardly crawl from their bed and he only did because the kids needed him.

When he looked at Ichigo and could only see his wife. Not because she died for him or because it was Ichigo's fault – it wasn't and still isn't; it won't _ever_ be his fault. But because Ichigo was and still very much is so much like her. Not in looks. But he has that same spirit. The same fire that drew Isshin to Masaki in the first place. That let him know the day they met that this was the woman he'd spent centuries waiting for, that there'd never be anyone else ever again.

He loves Ichigo; he does. But Isshin doesn't understand him. Not really. And he's coming to realize that more and more with each passing second. He understands his son even less than he thought he did. Ichigo was always different, always did things beyond comprehension. And even from the beginning, Isshin didn't understand how he could know the Kuchiki girl for a few months and then be willing to die for her. To risk everything to save her from people strong enough to wipe him from existence. To later on fight a war simply because she asked it of him.

Perhaps he just spent too many years in the Gotei 13 or in the Royal Guard. Too much time among the intrigue and the lies and those who'd knife him in the back whenever it suited them. Or maybe simply because he wasn't useful anymore. But Isshin just doesn't think that way. He can't be so self-sacrificing for proverbial strangers. For people who aren't his family or friends or nakama. For his children, yes; he'd die a thousand times over. For his friends, even that bastard Kisuke, definitely. But for anyone else?

And as much as he hates to admit it – loathes to even think of the possibility – Kisuke and Shinji are right. Isshin not only fails to understand his son. He doesn't know Ichigo either. He recognizes the face and the reiatsu and the sound of his voice, but when he looks in Ichigo's eyes, there's a veritable stranger gazing back.

A strong man. An honorable one even. Smart. Driven.

Someone worth knowing. But someone Isshin doesn't know. Not anymore. Not at all.

Masaki dying killed Isshin. Realizing that he's all but lost his son is beginning to destroy him.

* * *

Her first kiss was with a dead boy. His lips and hands were cool, which actually had nothing to do with the fact he was a ghost. And the thing she recalls most about that moment isn't the mintiness of his breath or the tingle of power to the air. Instead, she remembers his eyes. A deep blue-green that was both surprised and very much pleased.

Karin was fourteen. And she doesn't really want to consider how old Toushirou was. Less than a hundred. But over fifty. That's all he'll say about the matter, and she can't decide if it's supposed to be for her peace of mind or his own. If it bothers him that much that he's decades older. She mostly thinks he's just embarrassed that it was his first kiss, too. And that it took him so long to have it.

Yuzu teases her about having an older boyfriend. Old Goat-Face bleats about his new son, and she's half-convinced that he's already planned their wedding. Ichi-nii still snickers about it. In fact, he laughed for a full ten minutes when she finally told him. It was the happiest and lightest Karin's seen him in ages, too.

And somehow, she's not that embarrassed about any of it. Certainly not enough to end their… _thing_. To tell Toushirou to hit the road or demote him back to friend. To not be excited when he came over once a week and slept in her brother's otherwise unused bed. Always on a day that her dad picked up a shift at the hospital or attended meetings or went out with what friends he has. Sometimes, they'd watch movies together on the couch. Occasionally, they'd just walk around town. Other times, they'd go down to the soccer field and play pick-up games with whoever they could find.

But Toushirou doesn't do that anymore. Doesn't dare. The most contact she has with him now is through the letters that Tessai-san from the candy shop smuggles her. Letters that still somehow show up in the mail even without him around anymore. Letters that are good but not nearly as much as the real thing.

And a knot of unease fills her stomach most days. Worry about Toushirou and all the things he doesn't say. Concern about Ichi-nii and the fact that he smiles even less these days than he did after their mom died. Even some anxiety about Yuzu, whose abilities are strong enough now that she can see Hollows and have them see her. The only one Karin doesn't worry about is Goat-Face, and that's because nothing short of the apocalypse could keep him from bouncing back all daisy fresh.

Then, Ichi-nii doesn't come home one day.

Yeah, he lives on his own now. But he still comes by, and he's always there on Thursdays since that's when their dad is the least likely to be around. However, he doesn't show, and Kon is the one walking around in his body. None of them know where he is. Not Karin. Not Yuzu or old Goat-Face. Kon is clueless, too. And she can tell that he wants to go search but only holds back because he doesn't want to leave them behind with nobody but Isshin for protection. That and he can't skip class if Ichi-nii still wants to be a doctor. But at least, Kon's filled in enough for him over the years that he doesn't even need help with schoolwork anymore.

Ichi-nii seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.

And as the days stretch on, Karin only feels that knot in her belly grow until it feels like all of her insides are twisted together. There's a shiver to her spine and prickling at her skin that means something bad has happened, and that's confirmed when she gets a note from Toushirou. Telling her that her brother has been tried by the Shinigami and found guilty of a crime she doesn't even understand.

Plan one involves finding Ichi-nii, hitting him over the head, and then storming Soul Society to give Ukitake a piece of her mind. Only it fails before it can even get off the ground since her brother is nowhere to be found. Urahara-san's shop is missing, too. And if that doesn't clue Karin in, the tenth division's unannounced visit does.

She's not happy about it. About them going through her family's stuff and asking her all sorts of questions about Ichi-nii. But it could be worse. It could be someone other than Toushirou and his people, who don't look nearly as hard as they should. Just giving a cursory glance before becoming mesmerized by the TV. Toushirou, in the meantime, takes her out to the park and catches her up on what he knows.

Which is dishearteningly little.

After they're gone, Karin then tries door number two. She catches Inoue at the middle school she now works at, drops by Ishida's university, sees Tatsuki in the police station, and finds Sado at his restaurant. All of them have already been questioned by the Shinigami, and none have a clue where the hell her brother is. Even worse, she notices some of the bastards lurking about on her way home. Doing jack shit as usual and barely even stirring when they hear the screech of a nearby Hollow. Karin's half-tempted to go after it herself, even without her soccer ball. Toushirou's taught her enough that she can usually get by, and she doesn't only because there's too much of a chance they'll see her.

Option three is the one she hoped not to use, and Karin confronts her dad with Yuzu at her back and a gleam of death in her eyes. As usual, she comes away disappointed. And stays that way when Goat-Face finally gets off his ass and goes out to find his only son. But it's too little, too late.

And then, Yuzu and Karin are left to themselves. They're old enough to more than handle it now. And she's not worried about being left alone in the house. She can protect them if need be, and Toushirou told her where she can go if they need to stay low for awhile.

But there's something to the air that makes Karin nervous. That makes her lock the doors with more than just the latch. And get Kon to stay in the house with them. And for Karin herself to patrol through the neighborhood before bed. Waiting. Searching for something she can't name.

But it doesn't come the first several days Goat-Face is gone. Doesn't come until Karin is getting ready for bed and is just changing into her pajamas. Her head snaps up just as she pulls her shirt on, and her eyes focus on a spot below her of their own accord. Trying and failing to see through the floor.

It's just a tingle. Just a hint. Not even enough to get Yuzu to roll over in her sleep on the other side of the room. But Karin would know that reiatsu anywhere.

She feels him before she sees him. An icy bite to the air that she's always found more refreshing than chilling, and Karin races downstairs, taking the last four in one jump before hurtling into the living room. Toushirou's there, just as she knew he'd be. Dressed in black and sans his usual haori. He doesn't smile when he sees her, but his eyes soften and the lines on his forehead disappear.

"Toushirou, what… What are you doing here? Are you trying to get caught?" she demands as she strides up to him. Since really, Karin has no idea what else to say.

"I'm won't be. I'm supposed to be here. Well," he admits after a second, "tomorrow anyway."

"What?" Her brow furrows as she processes. "That doesn't make any sense." And her tone is not only confused but impatient.

He sighs, deep and very long. "They sent me here to bring you in for questioning. I'm supposed to fetch you tomorrow morning. You. Yuzu. Even Kon."

Karin feels the blood drain from her face. Feels the world sway around her. And only his hand on her forearm keeps her steady.

"I… But… What are we going to do? What are _you_ going to do? They had to see you go through the gate. They'll be here any minute."

"They won't be," he interrupts before she can go on. "They didn't see me."

"They couldn't have missed you, Toushirou!"

Karin can't help that her voice rises with each word. With her heart rate and stress level sure to follow.

But a squeeze to her arm quiets her.

"A… _friend_ of mine's on gate duty tonight," Toushirou explains with a patience he usually lacks. "And if asked, over a dozen witnesses put me at the eleventh division. No one saw a damn thing."

She gapes at him. Karin can't help it. She just so surprised. Not that he'd help her; that one's pretty much a given. But that he could be so sneaky about it. That he'd get other people to help him out. To lie for him. For her and Yuzu. And not because they are Kurosaki Ichigo's sisters either.

"I…"

But the words don't come. Not even minutes later. Karin is still reeling from shock. Only this time she's too busy thinking about what they're going to do. That they're going to have to run. That if they're taken in for this so-called questioning that chances are they'll never come back. They'll be used as bait for her brother. And probably killed the second he shows.

And make no mistake, Ichi-nii would show.

Karin's nearly dizzy as all of that races through her head. Flashing through at shunpo-like speeds. Leaving behind a roil in her belly and bile in her throat. Her spine stiffens right after that, and her shoulders square. Preparing. Readying herself. Putting away distractions and gearing up to do what needs to be done.

"What's the plan?" she asks, and her voice is steady and unwavering.

Toushirou doesn't reply. Instead, he kisses her. Hard and almost sharp. Not even caring for their current situation. That he's just dropped a bombshell and that they need to be doing a dozen other things. Or that she's taller than him now and he has to tilt his face up to reach. He just leans up and forward, hands sliding over her arms to cup her head and neck.

She's almost breathless when he pulls back. Mouth still tingling as he studies her face. Fingers falling away and momentarily clenching into fists. But then, his hands ease and go loose at his side as she watches with confusion.

"Do you trust me?" he finally questions. Soft but with an edge. Eyes impossibly bright and all too close to a true green.

And Karin doesn't even hesitate.

"Idiot, you know I do," she replies with her head cocked and a hand going to her hip.

That earns her something all too much like a smirk. Teeth white and gleaming as his lips curl up.

"Good."

And Toushirou steps back, holds out his hand, and beckons her to take it. Karin slides her fingers in his grasp before he can even complete the motion. He just looks at her for a long moment, and she looks back. Only at him and nothing else.

Then, Toushirou squeezes her hand and takes her back upstairs to get dressed.

 


	27. Overshare

Shinji talks in his sleep.

Ichigo could have lived his entire life without knowing that, but circumstances as they are, he doesn't have many options. He could continue to share his room – and a bed – with Kisuke, but Ichigo would rather not be anywhere near the bastard at the moment. Bunking with the other Vizard is even less appealing, and no way in hell will he share a room with Isshin.

Shinji it is then.

And Ichigo doesn't even feel guilty about forcing Aizen out either. Between his and Kisuke's bickering, Ichigo's pretty annoyed with him, too. Granted, it is to a lesser extent… but still. Aizen can bunk with Kisuke for all Ichigo cares. And the two of them can bicker and snipe at each other all night long until their faces turn blue and their voices go hoarse.

At this point, he's through with being the understanding one. The patient one who puts up with everything because he just doesn't care anymore. And he's damn tired of being the last one to know.

So fuck them.

The crunch of footsteps over soil and rock alerts Ichigo to the fact he is not alone. Though he'd also sensed familiar reiatsu approaching. Obviously, his visitor wanted him to know he's coming.

"Yer brooding."

Ichigo snorts and opens his eyes to see Shinji standing over him, expression unreadable. "Am not," he counters and pulls himself into a sitting position. "And even if I was, could you blame me?"

"Oooh, defensive and denial all at once. See how I'm not believing ya?"

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo drags a hand through his hair, still in desperate need of a hair cut. He's starting to look shaggier than usual. Not that he cares. And Kisuke did seem to like it. Not that Ichigo cares about that either. Not anymore.

"Did you come here just to mock me, or did you have something important to say?"

Shinji shrugs. "A little bit of both perhaps." There's a strange gleam to his eye that Ichigo's sure he should be wary of. "Let me guess, two certain former Shinigami are occupying your thoughts at the moment?"

"Wow. How very astute of you," Ichigo drawls, rising to his feet and brushing bits of dust from his clothes. "You must be a mind-reader."

The blond arches a brow. "Don't get smart with me, kid. I ain't the one that lied to ya."

His shoulders slump a little. He had been a bit _too_ snappish he supposes.

"Sorry. I know," he says bitterly. "That's more Kisuke's specialty. And Isshin even more than that."

"Don't worry about him." An arm slings over his shoulder and drags him into an uninvited half-hug. "Ya have two father figures. Granted, they both want ta screw ya into the floor, but the point is, there really isn't room for Isshin." Shinji pauses, brow furrowing with fake concern as he looks at Ichigo in all seriousness. "He's never touched ya in a bad place, has he?"

Disgusted, Ichigo elbows Shinji in the side and slips out from the half-embrace. "You're such an idiot," he mutters with another roll of his eyes. "Besides, you're wrong about Aizen. He sees me as a tool. Not a potential bedmate."

Shinji hums in amusement. "Oh, Ichigo, how very unaware you are."

"Am I?"

"Yes, but that obliviousness makes ya cute." Shinji lifts his hands in a dismissing gesture. "Then again, I suppose Kisuke does make for a very distracting cockblocker."

Ichigo's eyes widen as he fights down a blush. 'Shinji!" he hisses, reiatsu rattling through his body. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing." The blond is far too smug for his own good as he tries to direct Ichigo toward the steps leading from the basement back to civilization. "Tell ya what. I have a surprise for ya."

Understandably, Ichigo is wary. Especially with Shinji's last surprise.

"I'm not sure I want it."

The older man laughs, all but pushing Ichigo to go faster. "Something ta take yer mind off things."

Somehow, that comment fails to relieve any of his concerns.

"Something like _what_?" Ichigo demands, finding it easier to move than resist Shinji's efforts.

"Like dinner!" his friend announces cheerfully. "Ya like food, don't cha?"

Why is Ichigo suddenly struck with the urge to run screaming into the night? Maybe it has something to do with Shinji's shark-like grin. Or the unconscious shudder that grips his body at the thought of what the blond means by dinner. And the implications about the main course.

"Food, yes. Your suggested company? Probably not," Ichigo retorts with a scowl and hopes to all the gods who hate him that Kisuke hadn't been recruited to cook. He still likes living thanks very much.

Shinji laughs again. And Ichigo knows that he's doomed.

A fact that is confirmed within two seconds of sitting down at the table. Dinner is awkward, and that's putting it in a nice way. Ichigo doesn't know why Shinji seems to think it'll work. What with the tension that sizzles through the air like the sky charged from a thunderstorm. No one's smiling. No one's talking. Most of them are barely eating, and eyes dart surreptitiously this way and that.

Isshin, placed at one end of the table, alternates between glaring at Kisuke and watching his son like a man scorned. Kisuke, sitting across from Ichigo, keeps tossing apologetic looks his direction. Even as he twitches around in his seat to dodge Hiyori's attempts to kick him under the table. Shinji is still far too smug for his own good with Aizen uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many potential enemies. Nel – or Neliel as she's in her adult form – is worried but pretending hard that she isn't.

And yeah, it was kind of weird to catch her and Shinji kissing earlier. That's something Ichigo hadn't ever wanted to see.

The food is good. With the smell enough to make Ichigo's mouth water and for him to recognize it as Aizen's creation. But he's not hungry. He's pushing the curry around on his plate, pretending to be interested, and wishing to be anywhere but there. Placed between Neliel and Aizen. Ichigo notices that they've all been artfully arranged, as childish as that sounds. He wouldn't be surprised if Shinji actually sat down and created a seating arrangement.

Even the Vizard are uncomfortable. Save for Lisa. Who seems to be the only one able to eat without any problems.

"You know, for once, this isn't Aizen's fault," Lisa murmurs, voice cutting through the silence and making half the attendants startle in surprise.

Ichigo looks up, the truth of her words nearly startling.

Shinji, however, sniggers. "You're right." He relaxes just a tad now that the immediate tension has been broken. "Sou-chan's not involved in this one at all."

"He'll just use it to his advantage later," Kisuke mutters with a snort. As always, never one to pass up being snide at Aizen's expense.

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo sets down his chopsticks and rubs his fingers over his chest. Right over his sternum where it's been aching rather unusually lately.

"Now, now, Ki-kun, let's be honest about this," Shinji says chidingly. "We all know that Sousuke wasn't the one who took advantage here."

Kisuke's jaw all but drops. "You… you… but you agreed with me earlier!"

"Did I now? I don't quite remember." Shinji rolls his eyes away from his fellow blond and chews on his curry.

Kisuke looks as if he's been smacked with a dead fish, and Ichigo's hard pressed to say anything in his lover's defense. He's not in the mood to deal with any bickering, so he's glad that Shinji nipped that right in the bud. But he doesn't really want to have his dirty laundry aired either.

"What, Kisuke? No clever answer? No smooth denial?" Isshin inserts sharply, a hint of a smug grin curving at his lips. "I thought you were good at those."

Ichigo watches as Kisuke's fingers tighten around his chopsticks. A look of betrayal flashing over his features. Which are all too easy to see without the concealment of his hat.

"Not as good as everyone seems to think," the shopkeeper answers with a touch of humility. "I know the things that I am and am not guilty of. I'd never purposefully hurt Ichigo."

"Always a liar," Goat-Face says sweetly and bares his teeth in a manner that could be taken as threatening.

Ichigo shakes his head. Very unwilling to let Isshin get away with that statement.

"That's rich coming from you," he puts in with a scowl.

Kisuke isn't the only liar here. And Ichigo will be damned if he allows the blond to take all the blame. Even if he's still mad at him.

"He's got ya there, Isshin," Shinji adds with a snicker, unable to resist. "Pots and kettles and all that."

Ichigo, at this point, can't tell whose side Shinji's on. Or if he's even on a side. He seems to be attacking from all directions. Not minding that the conversation is only increasing the tension at the table.

Isshin's gaze focuses on Shinji with fire smoldering behind his eyes. "You stay out of this."

"Ya were eager fer my help earlier," Shinji retorts and gestures vaguely, never one to stick to polite behavior. "What's changed since then? Don't like getting chastised by a kid half your age."

"More than half," someone mutters under his breath.

It takes Ichigo a moment to track down the speaker, gazing at Love with narrowed eyes. Still, the older Vizard's comment stirs something inside of him. Reminding Ichigo of several points that have yet to be made or answered. He straightens. Interest in the meal completely forgotten.

"You know, Shinji, you make a good point," Ichigo says and looks at Isshin frostily. "How old are you, Dad? It's not like I'd know since you're as good as a stranger to me." He pauses, considering. "And is Kurosaki even our name?"

He watches as the man stiffens. Two steps away from concocting another lie that's sure to piss Ichigo off.

"We can talk family matters after dinner, son," Goat-Face tries to deflect.

"It's a private affair," Kisuke agrees, sticking his nose in and only digging himself a deeper hole.

Ichigo feels his own reiatsu surge briefly. "You lost your chance at privacy," he bites out. Since damn it, these two idiots haven't learned a _thing_. He looks at Kisuke. "And you need to decide where you stand. Or just shut the fuck up now."

Shinji nods sagely. "Yeah, no more straddling the fence, Ki-kun."

"I don't need you sticking your nose in this, Kisuke," Isshin adds. Expression thunderous and his food largely untouched.

Some dinner this turned out to be.

"You've done enough," Goat-Face continues. "More than enough."

"You've done his son enough," Love mumbles into his cup.

And though it probably wasn't meant to be heard, his comment attracts everyone's attention. Shinji snickers, but some of the others have the grace to look mortified. Neliel seems torn. Like she can't quite decide how to react. And Goat-Face is just plain pissed off.

"That one was actually really good," Shinji inserts then. "Ya even made Sou-chan laugh."

Next to him, Aizen shakes his head mutely. And leans back in his seat to get out of the line of fire.

"You think this is a joke," Isshin snarls. There's a dark cloud hanging over his head that looks thunderous. "It's not funny, Hirako. We're talking about my son here."

Ichigo nearly hopes Goat-Face _does_ do something as stupid as attacking one of his friends. That way Ichigo has an excuse to punch him again.

"I also happen to be sitting right here," Ichigo states through clenched teeth. "And I don't appreciate you pretending I'm not."

"No one's pretending anything," Goat-Face insists, directing his attention at Ichigo now. "I want you to see that he's not a good choice for you."

"And now would be the part when you tell me who'd be better." Ichigo's stomach churns at the mere thought. "Spare me the bullshit. The last thing I want is advice from you."

"Remember what Ki-kun told ya 'bout that?" Shinji questions then, nearly sing-song. "Maybe ya shoulda listened."

Goat-Face glowers at him. "It's true, and everyone here knows it." His attention flickers to Kisuke. "You're not good for him."

And if that isn't a dare to argue, than Ichigo doesn't know what is.

"You're his father, Isshin. But this is a matter between us," Kisuke reminds him with forced calm. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"Is that how you justify it? Any of it?" Isshin's eyes are slits, and his reiatsu rises around him to shimmer like a heat wave. "Using my son as a substitute for Yoruichi?" He sneers. "Tell me, did you imagine-"

"That's enough." It's low and nearly a growl. Yet, Ichigo's voice manages to cut through as if he'd shouted. "Do _not_ finish that thought."

He knows what Goat-Face would imply, and Ichigo hates that just a mention of it is enough to make something churn and tighten in his stomach. He hates that similar thoughts once crossed his own mind and were as quickly dismissed. Ichigo doesn't want Isshin to bring up those old insecurities. He has enough problems already.

But wisely, Isshin clamps his mouth shut. And the uncomfortable silence returns to the dining room, hanging over everyone. It's thicker and heavier than before. Now sizzling with bits of reiatsu. Ichigo wonders how Shinji could've ever thought this would work. And he ponders what he has to do to make a clever escape. He wants nothing more than to flee to a room and hide. Or perhaps head down to the basement where he can blast his annoyance and anger at the rocks.

Across the table, Lisa pops a bit of rice into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. Her eyes go from Isshin at the end. To Ichigo. And back in Kisuke's direction. She takes a slow drink of water before turning by to the table at large.

"So…" she begins in a tone that somehow makes Ichigo apprehensive. "At least the sex is good. Or was." She pauses. "But there are benefits to angry, make up sex, right?"

Ichigo's chopsticks freeze midair. He's not the only one who turns to stare at her with a mixture of disbelief and horror. And Ichigo knows that his cheeks are burning. This isn't exactly appropriate dinner conversation. Not that the previous topics were any better.

"What… What are you…?"

Ichigo's at a loss for words. Understandably so.

"It's always better with a bit of passion," Lisa continues, stirring her curry without thought. "Right? Like after you spar when you're all hot and sweaty and filled with adrenaline. Trust me. I've heard you." And then she winks, as though this were all some big secret.

Ichigo chokes on air. Unable to form a proper response. And Lisa's boldness has pretty much shut up everyone else at the table, too. He wonders if this is something common with them.

"Though I guess you like it gentle, too. It's nice to see that," Lisa continues after a minute.

As though it doesn't matter to her that Ichigo's redder than a tomato and Kisuke looks like he's forgotten how to breathe. Or that Isshin's about ready to implode.

"What? Two men on equal terms?" Rose suggests with a snort. He doesn't seem too bothered by the conversation.

"That's one way of putting it." Love lifts a brow, sunglasses perched on his nose and hiding the expression in his eyes.

Shinji sighs. The sort of sound a leader makes when he realizes his subordinates are not listening to him as well as he thought.

"Been installin' those cameras again, haven't ya?" he asks Lisa with a firm frown. "Didn't we have a talk 'bout that?"

Neliel decides now is the perfect time to add in her two cents. "Not this time. She was watching through the crack in the door."

How Neliel knows that is almost as disturbing as the knowledge that Lisa was peeping in on them. And a part of Ichigo feels like sinking through his chair and then the floor to the basement beyond. And then possibly further. To the center of the earth and out the other side where people were sane.

Shinji pins Lisa down with a look that borders on exasperation. "I thought we talked 'bout that, too."

"You never actually said I couldn't." She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Just that it wasn't appropriate behavior and was frowned upon."

Ichigo can tell that it's actually a direct quote.

Across the table, Kisuke somehow fights through his mortification. "If I'd known, I would've charged a fee."

It's obviously a weak attempt at dissolving the tension. And it fails spectacularly.

Isshin nearly suffocates on either his next bite or his own tongue. To his right, Hachi reaches out to pat the him across the back. But really, Ichigo feels a bit like choking himself. And on Neliel's other side, Hiyori makes a sound that's a cross between a squeak and a squawk. Obviously wanting to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else.

"You could probably make a tidy profit," Lisa comments and then eyes Ichigo as if appraising his possible value. "Though I could've made a good bit from footage of him and Ukitake together, too."

Shinji plants his chin on his palm and his elbow on the table. "Jyuushiro would've never allowed that ta happen. He's too old-fashioned."

"But a girl can dream." Lisa shrugs and diverts her attention back to Ichigo again. "By the way, just how good was he? I never had a chance with him, so I'm curious. I bet he's wonderful. A few thousand years old and undoubtedly very practiced." She gives a sound like a girly sigh mixed with a purr.

"Nah," Shinji corrects before Ichigo can recover from his horror. "They never went that far. Ya're just listenin' ta rumor there."

"Though it wasn't for lack of trying on Ichigo's part," Love puts in from a few seats down. "Or Shunsui's I'd imagine."

And how the fuck does he know something like that? Have they all been spying on him? Ichigo has never realized just how much his sex life – or just his life in general – is of interest to others. And he really needs to be more aware of his surroundings too now that he thinks about it. He hadn't even noticed them watching him.

"Really?" Lisa ponders this until her eyes subtly widen; she stares at Ichigo, glasses glinting in the light over the table. "Don't tell me Kisuke's your first? You poor, poor boy." She almost reaches across the table to give him a commiserating pat. "He's certainly not the best I ever had. You should've gone for Ukitake first. Or even Shunsui. He would've taken one for the team for you."

Ichigo wants to both die of embarrassment and just plain _attack_ all at once. His face is hotter than Ryuujin Jakka, and the thudding in his chest has to be his heart trying to flee from sheer mortification.

"I've had a girlfriend!" he declares and defends at the same time. Trapped somewhere between furious and annoyed as he jabs out a finger. "I'm not that pathetic!"

Of course, he was in his twenties when he started dating Haruhi. But they don't need to know that.

And either way, they completely ignore him.

"Wait a minute," Shinji insists, an almost cruel smirk curling his lips. "Let's go back to this _he wasn't the best you ever had_."

Lifting her shoulders, Lisa stirs her chopsticks around her curry. "He just wasn't." She plucks out some kind of sauce-drenched vegetable. "Isshin, on the other hand… He ranks pretty high up there."

Ichigo sputters and coughs in quick succession.

That's something he _never,_ _ **ever**_ wanted to hear. And he swears that he can hear the sound of jaws collectively dropping around the table. Since really, the idea of Goat-Face and sex makes his soul want to curl up, quiver, and just die. He often pretends that his mom had him and his sisters through artificial means, which is the only way his sanity stays mostly intact.

"Ooo." Love has a teasing grin of his own. "That has to _burn_."

"Well, I guess he has to be better at something," Rose adds, brushing hair from his face. "All things considered, there isn't much left after smarts, power, and good looks."

Something very horrible occurs to Ichigo then. A terrible and downright infuriating thought. And he shakes himself out of his shock as he glares at Isshin and puts the fury of both Zangetsu and Shirosaki behind his eyes.

"This better've been before you met my mom," he warns. And if he finds out Goat-Face is a cheating bastard on top of being a lying asshole, violence will most definitely ensue.

Lisa waves a hand through the air. "Way before, kid. We hadn't even left Soul Society, so don't worry about it." Her thumb and forefinger trace the curve of her lips as if wiping away some taste morsel. "Though back to the previous topic, even if Kisuke wasn't your first, you can't have too much experience. Would you like to try a woman?"

Ichigo can't decide which is more mortifying. That his past experience is being dissected and debated at the dinner table. Or that a woman who made Kisuke and Isshin one of her past conquests is now expressing interest in him, too. If the gates of hell opened before him now, Ichigo might just jump in to escape. Really, it can't possibly be worse punishment than this.

" _Lisa!_ "

And that almost horrified squawk comes from Hachi's direction. As if she's finally crossed some line that he's decided is too much for him.

She rolls her eyes. "What?" the brunette demands with an annoyed sniff. "I've had the father. Might as well try the son. Skill might be inherited. And I bet Shunsui showed him some good stuff for Ukitake."

Ichigo, beyond mortified, is two steps away from running. No matter how much trouble Shinji went to organize this dinner, nothing can make him sit through this. Their friendship be damned.

However, an unexpected voice cuts through the amused titters and shocked silence. One that before this had remained quiet.

"That's enough," Aizen says, tone lacking any trace of mirth. "This isn't an appropriate topic. Much less for the dinner table or about someone you claim as an ally and friend."

Ichigo's thoughts exactly. Did Lisa have no shame? No sense of modesty or suitable behavior?

But unfortunately for him, Aizen has just painted a target on his back. And Lisa's eyes swivel his direction and narrow behind her glasses.

"You're just worried I'll start on you next," she says with an edge of something behind her voice. Something sharp and furious that was missing from her previous, playful tone.

"Gods, Lisa, who hasn't made it into your bed?" Neliel inserts with an exasperated tone.

Ichigo hopes beyond hoping that the question is rhetorical. Regrettably, whichever god is looking over him is not in a merciful mood. And must not like him much truth be told.

"I haven't!" Shinji announces gleefully. Practically waving his hand in the air like he's proud of that particular fact.

"And obviously not Jyuushiro," Ichigo mutters to himself since he had to pick up that little tidbit whether he wanted to hear or not.

"Or Shunsui," Lisa adds, adjusting her glasses with the tip of her finger in a manner that is strongly reminiscent of Ishida.

"A good thing, considering his relations to Sousuke," Shinji throws out there a second later.

Ichigo blinks, having forgotten that piece of information. Something Shunsui had admitted to him years ago, during the war and before he died. Eyes sorrowful and downcast as he told Ichigo of the nephew he'd raised as a son. Only to have the same man turn on them all later on. Only for the same man to kill him.

Lisa sniffs. Though she can't possibly be offended. Not after airing her dirty laundry without any hesitation whatsoever.

"I just like to try new things. And make a memorable first impression." She says the last with an obvious leer Aizen's direction.

Beside him, Aizen stiffens. It only takes Ichigo a few seconds to connect one insinuation to the next. And a part of him thinks he ought to stop her now before she really starts to embarrass all of them, but it's too late. Lisa's got malice and wrath both in her eyes, and it's all directed at Aizen.

She purrs as she looks at the former overlord. Somehow sounding seductive and murderous all at once.

"Isn't that right, Sousuke?" Her tone is pleasant and full of pure malice. "Being as you know from personal experience."

Ichigo can't find the appropriate words to fight back. But to his surprise, it's actually Shinji who comes to Aizen's rescue.

"Not all of us can be a revolvin' door," the blond cuts in then. "Some favor stability."

"I think it's sweet," Neliel comments brightly, one of the few at the table who seems to have enjoyed her meal. "To wait like that. Very sweet."

" _Pathetic_ ," Kisuke coughs into his fist as though everyone at the table is stupid enough to believe that old trick. "Honestly, Sou-chan. How old were you?"

Shinji tosses him a disappointed look. Honestly, Ichigo's in agreement.

"That's a nasty cough you got there, Ki-kun." Shinji's eyes are narrowed and his grin almost nasty. "Ya should get it checked out."

"Ichigo's dad is a doctor, yes?" Neliel points out with a sincere smile. Happy to help.

And really, she should just stop while she's ahead.

"Maybe he should look at _Aizen_. There's certainly something wrong with him," Hiyori suggests petulantly, proving that she hasn't been completely destroyed by the mind-numbing conversation. Only temporarily silenced.

Ichigo, in the meantime, exhales. Lifting a hand to rub over his sternum where it feels like a vibrating throb is trying to push through his chest. It's always worse with stress. And this certainly hasn't helped.

He glances from one person to the next. Hearing the rise of their voices as they murmur amongst themselves. And finally, he's had enough.

"I think an even better question would be how any of you expect us to get into Soul Society, find the Royal Key, and try to put someone new on the throne," Ichigo inserts loudly enough to be heard over everyone.

The silence that sweeps through the room is largely contemplative and surprised. But mostly lacking the tension it previously held. And for that, Ichigo is grateful. So long as there's no longer any sniping or sex talk.

Shinji sets down his chopsticks and pushes his plate away. "It won't be easy."

"Not easy?" Love puts his elbows on the table. "It's kind of like hitting a bullet with a smaller bullet while riding a horse. Blindfolded."

"It'll certainly take careful planning," Rose agrees, sitting back in his chair and pursing his lips. He, too, looks a bit relieved for the change in topic.

"There's the Royal Guard to consider," Hachi comments quietly and laces his fingers together. "Not to mention the Gotei 13."

Kisuke leans forward, cheeks still fighting off a blush though he presents a put together façade. "Current infighting suggests we may not have as many Shinigami to contend with as you think."

"True," Shinji agrees.

And _finally_ , it's a normal conversation. Granted, it's more about war and invasion, but the topic isn't sex. Ichigo couldn't be more pleased.

"But there are still enough ta give us trouble," Shinji continues after a short pause. "And not all of us are any use at this point."

"And not everyone can enter Soul Society either," Hachi adds, closing his eyes as he considers. "Though I might be able to think of a way to bypass that limitation given enough time."

"How about a week?" Ichigo asks.

Hachi shakes his head. "Not that quickly, no. I'd need at least a month."

"Well, we don't have it."

The restlessness inside of Ichigo demands an outlet. Secrets and lies, they leave him trapped. Coming to here from the house eased some of the tension, but Goat-Face's appearance and the subsequent arguments leave Ichigo uneasy. Make him eager to get the hell out of here for just about any reason.

Shinji shifts to look at him with a raised brow. "Is there really that much of a hurry?"

"I'm tired of sitting around on my ass and waiting for something to happen," Ichigo explains, fingers tapping against the table. "The sooner we move, the less time Soul Society has to think of what we might do."

"But… less than a month?" Kisuke questions, voice thick with concern. Probably worried about his sanity, but hell, half of this is the blond's fault anyway. "Exactly how soon are you meaning here, Ichigo?"

"Within two weeks," he answers firmly, leaving no room for argument. If they disagree… well, he'll just do this on his own; he has before. "That gives us enough time to plan and practice if need be."

Shinji winces. "That's cutting it pretty damn close."

"At this point, things can't possibly get any worse for me. Might as well give it what I got," Ichigo puts in with a nonchalant shrug. Though from the vibrating in his reiatsu, they can probably read a different story out of him.

He watches as Shinji opens his mouth. Only to clamp it closed again. Obviously biting back an argument. But there's a look in his eyes that clearly states the time line will be discussed later.

"So… what? You want to talk battle plans _now_?" Hiyori demands.

Ichigo shakes his head. The emotions flickering around the room and his own sense of fatigue make that damn near impossible.

"No. But tomorrow's good."

Hiyori nearly suffocates on her next breath. As if she hadn't expected him to be that serious.

"Besides," Ichigo adds. "The last time I tried to storm Soul Society I had even less time, less planning, and less help. And we turned out okay."

He pointedly does not look at Kisuke while mentioning this. Though Goat-Face directs a glare the shopkeeper's direction anyway.

"What about the Hougyoku?" Aizen asks from beside him.

Unconsciously, Ichigo feels himself stiffening. He hadn't expected anyone to think of its existence. Why would they? It'd be logical to assume the damn thing was gone now.

"I destroyed it," Kisuke replies instead.

He can't resist trading a glance with Ichigo. Who only shakes his head in a minute gesture and pretends that his half-eaten, now-cold curry is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Aizen snorts with a small smirk curling his lip. He looks from Ichigo to Kisuke and back. Gaze unreadable behind his glasses.

"Bullshit."

Ichigo tenses further, reiatsu flickering around him involuntarily.

"Maybe so." Kisuke is nonplussed by Aizen's accusation and completely poker-faced. "But where it is, it's safe. And that's all anyone needs to know."

Shinji's eyes narrow into thin slits. "Why didn't ya destroy it?"

"He can't," Aizen answers, sounding a touch too smug. "Not without causing a crater the size of Seireitei. The outpouring of energy would be too massive to contain or conceal."

All things that Ichigo already knows.

Shinji turns towards Kisuke and pins him down with the force of his glare alone. "What do ya mean by ' _safe_ ' then?"

"As in someplace no one will ever be able to get a hold of it," Kisuke returns firmly. But his gaze doesn't quite meet Shinji's own.

"Since that worked so well the first time." Love casts a vague glance Aizen's direction.

Kisuke sighs. A bit of steel enters his spine and chases away the lost-puppy look that so recently made a home on his face.

"The circumstances this time are different," he insists. "Believe me when I say, the Hougyoku is safe. It won't be used by the enemy. And we aren't going to use it either. It's better left forgotten."

"Strange to hear such caution from you," Shinji remarks, and his tone is contemplative rather than malicious. Almost… _approving_.

Kisuke's eyes flicker to him as he rises to his feet. "Sometimes, people change," he says and pauses as though planning to continue. But he just shakes his head. "Dinner was good. Thank you."

He leaves without allowing anyone to protest his exit. Effectively ending the query about the Hougyoku. Ichigo bites back a sigh of relief. It's better if no one thinks to ask him about the damn thing because Ichigo knows he's not as good at hiding secrets as everyone else. Besides, Kisuke's right. It's better left forgotten and buried.

Dinner is pretty much a bust after that. Everybody exchanges a glance, and they slowly start to get up afterwards. Or not so slowly in other cases. Hiyori is the first out the door, and Ichigo can't decide if she's chasing after Kisuke or just running away. Love and Rose are next, leaving together. Hachi sneaks away in the meantime, while Lisa stretches, yawns, and then walks away without a care in the world. Goat-Face lingers, as if hoping to corner Ichigo, but a look from Shinji and a flare of reiatsu send him out with his tail between his legs. Neliel slides from her seat but stops by the door, and it takes Ichigo a second to realize that she's waiting for Shinji. Who's come up behind Ichigo's chair with an obvious mind to talk.

"Ya've got ta sleep somewhere else tonight," Shinji says without preamble.

"You're kicking me out?" Ichigo demands and accuses both. Rising to his feet in a huff.

Shinji just looks at him. "Sousuke was there first. And ya kick in yer sleep. So either all three of us share – with him in the middle, mind ya – or ya go find somewhere else."

Ichigo can't believe it. But then, this is Shinji. And nothing he does ever makes sense. And well… alright. Aizen was there first. Not that he'll admit that aloud.

"Where should I go then?" he asks. Now more tired than anything.

"I dunno. Maybe back ta yer room," the blond suggests, and he holds his hands up when Ichigo nearly growls. "Kick Kisuke out if ya want. He won't fight ya over it. And he'll think that it'll earn him brownie points ta be so agreeable. Maybe it actually will. Besides, he and Isshin need to work things out, and this'll be a good opportunity."

That… That is actually a good suggestion now that Ichigo thinks about it. It's his room too dammit! He has just as much right to be there. Why the hell did he even leave in the first place when Kisuke was the one who fucked up?

So yeah, Ichigo's taking it back.

Shinji grins at him. As if reading his mind. He pats Ichigo once and then puts his hands in his pockets.

"There now. See? Ya've got it all covered." He turns for the door and Neliel still waiting for him. "Oh, I added yer name to the chore calendar. Yer on dish duty tonight, Ichigo," Shinji calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

Ichigo scowls at his back as he walks through the door. Bastard should've told him that earlier. The conversation about sleeping arrangements was probably just a cover for it. Which is so like Shinji, too. And Kisuke, truth be told. Always dancing around the issue at hand.

He frowns at that and rolls his shoulder before turning back to the table. Only to stop short. Aizen's still there, in the room. And he's actually in the process of clearing the table. Which he really shouldn't have to do since he made dinner. But the other Vizard can be jerks that way, and Aizen is smart enough not to argue.

In fact, he barely even glances up as Ichigo goes over to help him. And the two of them work together without comment. Going back and forth between the table and the kitchen in an amicable sort of silence. Not strained like it was before, during dinner.

And soon, the table is clear and all the dishes are clean. And the two of them are just standing quietly in the kitchen by the counter. Not really inclined to leave and once more embrace the insanity.

But soon enough, Ichigo's voice cuts through the silence.

"Thanks," he says then with a nod of his head. "For earlier. With Lisa."

Aizen glances at him. Weighing and measuring. Until he decides that Ichigo is sincere and not using it as a lead in for mockery.

"She was out of line," the older man comments as he sets down a dish towel. "She had no right to say those things to you. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Yeah," Ichigo agrees and rubs a hand over his head, "tell me about it. She doesn't know when to shut up. None of them do. It's so aggravating."

"Very true." And Aizen actually chuckles. "A common problem among those from Soul Society and Seireitei in particular. Or so I've noticed."

"Were they always like that? The Vizard? Kisuke? Isshin?" Ichigo questions and waves a vague hand. "Like they are now. All up in other people's business. Watching them. _Spying_ on them." The last part is said with a shudder.

Aizen tilts his head back as if recalling, but he frowns at the specks of water dotting his glasses. "For the most part, yes. Gossip is still a favored pastime in Seireitei and has been since long before I was born. Undoubtedly, it still will be long after we're both gone. As for the Vizard themselves…" He gives an elegant shrug. "They're far more like the Shinigami than they care to think."

"Well," Ichigo acknowledges, "they were all once Shinigami themselves, right? That's what Shunsui told me. That _Lisa_ ," and yes, he mostly keeps the distaste out of his voice as he says her name, "was in his squad. I think he said that Kensei was head of the ninth, too."

"Yes, they all were once Shinigami," Aizen replies after a second, pulling out a cloth from his pocket. "In fact, I once served under Hirako-san. As his fukutaichou."

"Shinji was your boss?" Ichigo repeats incredulously, and he can't quite hold in the sniggers that follow. "Oh… man. I feel sorry for you. He was horrible, wasn't he?"

Aizen removes his glasses to wipe them off. "Not as bad as he could've been," he responds cryptically. "And certainly, better than others."

"But still not as good as some," Ichigo needles as he turns to look at the brunet fully. "Made you do all the paperwork, didn't he? Made you do all the hard work while he lounged around?"

Aizen offers another shrug. Still cleaning his glasses and occasionally inspecting them for streaks.

Ichigo can admit that it's odd seeing him like this. Without his glasses but with his hair not slicked back like it was during the war. It makes him seem different. Less dangerous and homicidal. And really, he's not bad looking either. Not at all and certainly not plain, despite that fact that his hair and eyes aren't some of the more eccentric shades present in Soul Society.

He almost looks like Shunsui is this light. Not harmless, no. But… easier, Ichigo supposes. Gentler maybe. More trustworthy. Like someone he could believe in and like and perhaps even follow. Someone worthy of the faith others placed in him.

Ichigo can see why it was so easy for him to fool people. If he's this good of an actor, why they fell for it hook, line, and sinker. The Shinigami aren't exactly geniuses to begin with, and it wouldn't have been hard to pull the wool over their eyes. To fool them with such a performance.

"It's not," Aizen inserts then as he slips his glasses back on. "An act," the man clarifies.

And Ichigo belatedly realizes that he must've said at least part of that aloud. A fact that is confirmed when Aizen offers him a small smile.

"This isn't an illusion, Ichigo-kun," the brunet informs him. "This is me just as much as the man from the war. A different aspect, yes. But it's the truth as well." He pauses to let that sink in. "You'll find that the best lie – the best mask – is the one that isn't even a lie at all. One that is the complete and utter truth."

Ichigo turns that over in his head. "I'll give you that one. But you've got to admit that your zanpakutou certainly made it easier. That you wouldn't have gotten nearly as far without mind fucking everybody."

And part of him wonders what kind of past and childhood would shape Aizen's soul in such a way. To give him that power. To be able to distort reality as people know it and make them see anything he desires. To let him conceal himself and his plans so easily.

Ichigo wonders. And thinks about the things Shunsui didn't say. About Aizen's parents. His other family members. What he was like as a kid. And Ichigo doesn't at all like the conclusions he makes.

Aizen just nods though, not privy to his thoughts. "Indeed. Though I'll point out something else in return, and that is why would I go to such trouble? To such lengths in the first place? People rarely decide to do something without good reason, Ichigo-kun," he comments with an odd inflection. "I simply didn't wake up one day and decide to take over."

"Didn't you?" Ichigo questions, and it's actually not an accusation. More like genuine curiosity. "Didn't you care about anyone in Soul Society and what would happen to them? Your family? Your friends? Your division?"

"Did I care about my division; did I want the best for them?" Aizen repeats thoughtfully. "Yes, I did. But I also knew that they'd never have it. Not with the way things were. And that isn't an excuse. Merely a fact." He studies Ichigo for a long moment. "I did things. Terrible to some. Horrible even. And there is no excuse for them. Nor is there regret. I'm adult enough to own up to my actions, but I don't believe I was wrong."

Years ago, this would've set Ichigo off. Even months ago, he'd be furious by this point and at the line of civil conversation. But time has a way of changing people. Of forcing them to grow up. To change. And Ichigo finds himself still listening.

"Even with Shunsui?" he asks after a few heartbeats. "Even though he's your uncle, and you fought against him?"

Aizen blinks. And Ichigo can tell he's nearly taken aback. That he dearly wants to ask how Ichigo knows that.

"He told me," the Vizard states, deciding to be nice this time. "One day when Jyuushiro was gone. He told me that he'd looked after you since you were little. He told me a lot about you. At least, what he thought was genuine."

Aizen is silent for a long time. Long enough that Ichigo thinks he just seriously fucked up. That he actually managed to offend the guy. But when Aizen finally does speak, his voice is very soft. Eyes distant and looking at something – _someone_ – not there.

"All of it was genuine. I never lied to him."

There's something about the way he says it. Something to his tone and the look to his face. To his eyes and the fact that they are still visible behind his glasses. Ichigo thinks that he's actually looking at the real Aizen Sousuke. Not the overlord. Or the traitor. Not even the captain. No illusions. No masks. Just the person beneath it all. Flawed but not weak. Imperfect. Human.

And a part of him wonders why this man is so strangely familiar.


	28. Ambush

"It's not going to work."

The voice slithers out of the shadows of an adjoining hallway; it causes Sousuke to pause and look. He knows who is there and half-considers ignoring him, save that he also knows it'll do little good. Urahara will find some way to make his opinion known, and it's better for Sousuke to humor him now as opposed to later where they might have an audience.

Urahara enjoys putting on a show for the crowd.

Sousuke just sighs very slightly.

"Pardon?"

The blond pushes himself off the wall of the corridor and steps into view. He's sans hat and geta, which puts them at near even height. The look in his eyes is hardly welcoming. One might almost call it accusatory. Enormous surprise there.

"You think because he's angry that he's vulnerable," Urahara says sharply, and that's a pretty good indication of what direction the shopkeeper seeks to take. "It's not going to work. Ichigo will never trust you."

Sousuke inclines his head, amused but refusing to show it. "As you have effectively broken the trust he's given you, I hardly see where you have room to judge."

He watches as Urahara twitches, face losing some color in the wake of his words. Words that strike too close to home. Sousuke resists the urge to thank Urahara for providing so much fodder and all but clearing the way. Not that Sousuke needs the man's help. Ichigo-kun has made the choice on his own; he didn't even need Sousuke's coaxing to choose the path to godhood. And perhaps that's the most delicious part of this whole endeavor.

Urahara's face hardens again. "Don't play innocent with me. I know that you're not."

"I hardly think you are one to speak of innocence," Sousuke counters, and he almost feels like smirking at the look shot his way.

"That isn't the issue here," the blond declares, and yes, there's a twinge of angry red to his face. The color suits him; it highlights his general inferiority.

"Oh?" Sousuke questions, and his tone has a hint of wickedness that'd make Gin or Shunsui very proud indeed. "Isn't it though?"

"No," Urahara insists with a jerk of his hand. "The issue is Ichigo and what you're trying to pull. He's too smart to fall for it."

"Kurosaki-kun is very intelligent," the ex-overlord agrees.

"He isn't Ichimaru," Urahara retorts sharply. As though Sousuke should understand what exactly he means by that. "He won't be lured by your charm and false promises."

Ah, so he desires to take that route. Sousuke isn't ill-armed for this argument. In fact, he should've expected it. Urahara is feeling territorial after all, even for something he has already lost by his own mismanagement.

"I'm well aware of that." Sousuke inclines his head, and his next words strike true and deep. "At least, I haven't made him a replacement for the woman I couldn't have."

He watches as Urahara's face colors even more. His skin exchanges the faint pink he'd acquired earlier with a flush of anger, and his greyish eyes go dark.

"Replacement?" the shopkeeper repeats almost too softly. "No, you just want a new admirer. Someone to take Ichimaru's place. In _all_ things." The last is nearly a hiss.

Brown eyes narrow, and Sousuke feels himself go completely still. He knows what they say of him. Of his past interactions with his lieutenant. But he won't let this man drag Gin's name through the mud. Gin already had enough of that in his life; he doesn't need it in death.

"What does that mean?"

Nausea twists in his belly and rises into his throat, but his voice is somehow still even. There are certain things that Sousuke will tolerate, but he has a sudden feeling that Urahara is about to tread into the realm of completely unforgivable. Surely, he wouldn't be that stupid, would he?

He scoffs at his own question. Yes, Urahara is most certainly that moronic.

"Exactly what it sounds like." The blond steps closer, not so much intimidating as to keep his voice low and accusatory. "Ichimaru was more than just your ally. He didn't just stand by your side, did he? What else did he occupy?"

Sousuke nearly bristles. It's not the first time Urahara has made such implications, but there's something now that's more malicious.

"You have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't I?" Urahara's eyes gleam as though he's triumphantly stumbled upon some inherent truth. "Ichimaru all but worshipped you. Anyone could see it in his eyes. He would've done _anything_. Like father, like son, right?"

Something inside Sousuke snaps, something that he's been clinging onto for the past several months. He feels it crack and crumble away, and he takes a single step forward, expression blank but eyes icy. Had he reiatsu, it would've rattled the walls, and Kyouka Suigetsu would've hissed for blood.

"Stop it."

The sharp command breaks through the crawling atmosphere, through the tension that coils in Sousuke's muscles and makes his hands pull into fists. The urge to commit violence, so sharp and clear, rises in him. However, it backs down at the interjection of a familiar voice.

Urahara pales, and Sousuke turns to see Ichigo-kun stalking toward them with a look of thunderous fury twisting his features and deepening the scowl on his lips. Reiatsu whips around him in a controlled burst of displeasure, one that surprisingly isn't aimed at Sousuke but rather at Urahara.

"That's enough," the newcomer all but snarls, not resting until he's come between the two as if a human barrier. His back is to Sousuke, but the former overlord can guess his expression by the reaction in Urahara's face.

Ichigo-kun is not pleased.

Urahara has the grace to look abashed. As though even he has realized just what lines he has crossed.

"I-"

One hand cuts sharply through the air and interrupts whatever Urahara had planned to say. Apology? Sousuke doubts it. Some kind of defense for himself? Most likely. Though Sousuke isn't sure that there's something the shopkeeper can say to erase the anger rippling through the area.

The Vizard shakes his head, and Sousuke swears the temperature in the hallway drops by several degrees. Kuchiki-taichou would've been so proud.

"You're not the man I thought you were, Kisuke," he says, and his tone is full of so much reproach that Sousuke almost feels guilty by proxy. Fortunately, only Unohana-san has ever truly managed to perfect that technique. "I didn't think you were the type to kick a man when he's down."

Urahara's mouth opens and then closes just as quickly. He looks as though he wants to say something. His eyes flicker toward Sousuke in unconcealed hatred before softening as they return to Ichigo-kun.

"You know me better than anyone," the shopkeeper says softly.

Sousuke's surprised that he's willing to show so much vulnerability where his worst enemy can witness it. Then again, it might all be carefully calculated on Urahara's part. Though that would be giving the man far too much credit.

For a moment, the tension in Ichigo-kun's shoulders lightens. Sousuke can't see his face, but he can imagine the effect Urahara's words would have.

"Do I?" He shakes his head. "I never knew this part of you, and I don't know that I like it."

Urahara's eyes widen fractionally. "You don't understand."

"How can I? You've not told me enough to help me understand," Ichigo-kun retorts, and there's bitterness in his voice, enough to make even Urahara seem taken back. "Hate him all you want, but even I know when words can go too far."

Urahara's mouth clamps closed, as though he's biting back a retort that won't emerge in his favor. His eyes flicker once past Ichigo-kun to Sousuke before returning to his lover – or former one at this rate. Sousuke hasn't asked if they've called things off, and he's in no position to inquire. Truthfully, he isn't certain he wants to know.

"You can forgive Aizen his war, but you can't forgive me for my hesitation," Urahara responds quietly and with obvious hurt. "I suppose it's my fault that I don't know why."

He pauses another moment more before moving to edge past his lover in the hallway.

Ichigo-kun doesn't watch Urahara leave, and Sousuke barely spares the shopkeeper a glance as he slinks away with his tail between his legs. Still, Urahara's words have had their intended effect. They have left his companion contemplative and silence descends in the corridor in his wake. The tension has not managed to discharge for all that Urahara is gone.

Sousuke knows he should say something, but he's unsure what would be appropriate for this situation. Luckily though, Ichigo-kun saves him from witty commentary by whirling around and pinning him with a look.

"I wasn't protecting you so stop thinking you need to tell me how you can take care of yourself."

Oddly enough, Sousuke wasn't thinking of such a thing, but Ichigo-kun doesn't need to know that. It _is_ the sort of thing he should have been wondering.

"How else should I interpret it?" Sousuke replies smoothly, glad that the vitriol formerly gleaming in Ichigo-kun's eyes hadn't been aimed at him. "I'm sure Urahara will see it the same way."

"He can see it however the fuck he wants." Ichigo-kun seethes noticeably. "There are certain lines you don't cross, and he crossed them."

Sousuke blinks before he can stop himself. "I should count myself lucky to have fallen into your sphere of protection then."

"Hardly." The other man snorts, sweeping a hand over his hair. That only serves to highlight just how tired he looks. "I know you're not completely innocent either. You had to have done _something_ to rile him. But that's not the point. What he said was completely off base."

"Perhaps."

Ichigo-kun, however, is already moving ahead on his own. "He doesn't know the truth," the Vizard adds, moving by Sousuke as though he means the words for himself and not the man beside him. "He only knows rumor and his own conjecture. That doesn't give him the right to imply things that simply aren't true. Especially not that."

"And you know the truth," Sousuke inserts softly, head cocked to the side as he watches Ichigo-kun pace back and forth in the corridor, obviously agitated.

Ichigo-kun draws to a halt. "I know what Shunsui told me," he explains with eyes narrowing. "It's enough. And no, I don't want a thank you."

"He'll see this as a defense of me."

"Or maybe he'll take it as a sign I'm not impressed right now and he's only digging himself a deeper hole," Ichigo-kun corrects, as always surprising Sousuke with his insight.

Intrigued, the brunet wonders how much else Ichigo-kun has noticed. "He wouldn't have said such things if he knew you were listening."

Ichigo-kun whirls toward him, suspicious and surprised. "You're defending him now?"

Sousuke sniffs, the idea of doing such making his stomach churn. "Hardly. I just think it'd be better for you to keep things in context."

"You're trying to be fair," Ichigo-kun says, unable to hide the incredulity in his tone. "A small indication of your fairness isn't going to make me trust you."

"I don't presume to think that it would."

"Hmph. Whatever." Ichigo-kun makes a sound. "I can't play word games like you and Kisuke can."

He still calls Urahara by his given name. Sousuke doesn't know why he finds this detail vitally important or why it makes something inside of him roil; it simply does. By all accounts, Ichigo-kun should want to abandon his familiarity with the shopkeeper. But he obviously hasn't. He's still… _attached_ to Urahara.

"I'm just telling you how it is," the younger man continues, dragging Sousuke from his contemplations. "If you cross the line, I'd say the same thing to you."

The former captain barely refrains from snorting in derision. "I have better control of myself."

"Ah, an insult. That sounds more familiar." The tiniest traces of a smile curl Ichigo-kun's lips. "It might be better if you stayed away from each other."

 _He started it_ seems like such a childish thing to say, so Sousuke refrains. Even if it is the utter truth.

"I'll make it a personal goal to do so."

"Good."

Ichigo-kun moves to step past Sousuke, obviously content on continuing on to wherever he'd been going in the first place. But he pauses to look at Sousuke once, a glance over his shoulder.

"I've never been a replacement for anyone," he says then. "And I'm not about to start now."

It takes every ounce of Sousuke's self-control not to openly gape at his departure. Obviously, the Vizard was standing around and listening for longer than he originally implied. Sousuke wonders if Ichigo-kun hadn't only heard the end of the altercation but the beginning as well.

The implications of that are troubling, but Sousuke can't quite deduce why. He feels as though he has just missed something very important.

It's… _unsettling_. And it's been a very long time since he was so troubled. It seems another gift of Ichigo-kun. To create chaos and confusion. To make him forget himself so easy.

But somehow, Sousuke feels more intrigued than anything.

o0o0o

The floors are vibrating beneath Sousuke's feet, and not for the first time that afternoon either. It's been scarcely an hour since that disastrous encounter with Urahara in the hallway, and in that time, Sousuke has felt the floorboards tremble three times, four including the most recent. As though, somewhere beneath him, someone is releasing an ungodly amount of rage and aggression.

Reiatsu accompanies the tremors, strong and telling. Sousuke may have lost Kyouka Suigetsu and all vestiges of power, but he can still sense reiatsu as well as he ever could. Hirako is one of those below him, blasting away at either rock or opponent. The other signature, muffled as it might be, Sousuke guesses to be Ichigo-kun. He's not as familiar as Hirako, but there's a certain vibrancy that makes it stand out. It's a sensation that Sousuke can't put into words. Just one that he can easily recognize. A subtle and distinct taste that is unique to Ichigo-kun and no one else. Something that's resounds like the other Vizard but not quite the same. Perhaps a reflection of his status as a still living human or the result of how he gained his powers.

Suppressing a sigh, Sousuke puts his book aside. He can't concentrate; there are too many outside factors interfering with his thought processes. Factors like his recent confrontation with Urahara, Ichigo-kun's decision to aim for the throne of Soul Society, and Sousuke's own growing fascination with the Vizard-Human hybrid. Or whatever it is that Ichigo-kun calls himself.

"They're sparring," Neliel informs him from her perch on a chair across the room. She's sitting nearer to the sliding doors as though she wishes to soak up the sun.

Sousuke, ironically, is in the dimmest part of the room and furthest from the door. It's a habit he can't shake, one that requires he always watches his back.

"It doesn't feel friendly," he comments almost idly.

Her lips lift into a light smile. "I think Ichigo's trying to work out some aggression. Understandable really."

"I can imagine," the brunet allows.

His head tilts to the side as he feels the floor quiver beneath his feet once again. It's not as hard as a moment ago, but there is something different to the feel. It is more akin to kidoh than to anything, but oddly enough, it doesn't seem as though it came from Hirako.

Very curious.

Across the room, Sousuke can feel the weight of Neliel's eyes. She seems to be searching for something on his face, though it's hard to tell what at present time. In child form, it'd be easy to find out, but the adult version can be so inscrutable. It's difficult to know what she thinks at any given moment. She hides her true opinions as well as Gin or perhaps even Sousuke himself.

"He's been a bit… _frustrated_ , you could say," she finally adds. "It's his way of coping."

Sousuke turns that over in his mind. The comment says more about Ichigo-kun, Neliel, and their relationship than he believes she currently realizes. Or perhaps she knows but doesn't mind to tell him.

Even more curious.

His gaze flickers once more to the floor at the next rattle but then focuses on her. Neliel's smile has since widened, and her eyes are a peculiar shade as she rises to her feet with a motion for him to follow. Curiosity more than anything compels him, and he trails along after her as she leads him to the trapdoor for the basement. A staircase enables Sousuke to climb down since he can't simply drop into a shunpo like everyone else. A fact which only serves to remind him of the power he's lost. He supposes he should resent Hirako for that, but he can't blame his former captain. Sousuke would've done the same if the situation had been reversed. It's probably one of the more intelligent things Hirako Shinji has ever done.

Down here, their power is thicker, more tangible. Sousuke can feel it pressing against his skin, tingling all over. It's like bathing in pure energy, and something deep inside of him trembles with the possibility. He knows that Ichigo-kun is strong, but somehow, feeling the breadth of that brings the reality home.

He follows Neliel as she leads him across the flat, dry ground and toward a rising cloud of dust in the distance. Streaks of black and blue whip through the air, and the familiar explosive energy of thrown kidoh slices around them. Even from this far, Sousuke can hear the gravelly laughter of the Vizard – both Hirako and Ichigo-kun have their masks on. No wonder he could feel them through the floorboards. It's only a miracle and years of spiritual control that allow him to breathe freely, even this far away.

They stop at what Sousuke considers a more than safe enough distance and watch the two battle both on the ground and in the air. At the moment, Hirako is giving chase to Ichigo-kun, who occasionally whips around to fire crescents of energy back. Getsuga Tenshou is what Sousuke believes the attack to be called. Gin would've known for certain; he always did have a knack for that sort of thing.

It's difficult to keep up with their motions. Hirako on his own is abnormally quick, and amplified by his Hollow powers, he's even faster. Ichigo-kun has already proven himself to be proficient at shunpo, and his bankai is built for speed. So to watch the pair of them spar is to see a blur of motion with the occasional burst of an attack careening away to pummel some defenseless rocks. If they were to take this seriously, Sousuke wonders which of them would actually emerge victorious.

"Ichigo's pretty amazing, isn't he?" Neliel comments a few minutes after they settle in to watch. There's a hint of her childish veneration peeking through, and she observes everything with glittering eyes.

Sousuke inclines his head. "I thought you'd be cheering for Hirako-san."

"I do sometimes. When he's earned it," Neliel replies with a particular smirk that Sousuke isn't sure he wants to translate.

Sometimes, he's pretty sure he doesn't understand the relationship between Arrancar and Vizard. By all accounts, they should be bitter enemies, not almost-lovers. He isn't certain how this ever came to pass.

"Ichigo's different," Neliel adds then, giving him the distinct sensation she's watching him from the corner of her eyes. "He's… special."

There is fondness in her tone and admiration. Sousuke still wonders how one boy could attract the loyalty of so many. Ichigo-kun has always been charismatic – scowls and all – to turn his enemies into his friends and attract a vast array of devoted allies. Even now, that hasn't changed. The Vizard are all his companions. Urahara would _kill_ for him without hesitation; Sousuke is certain there are Shinigami in Soul Society who'd leap at the chance to come to Ichigo-kun's aid.

He has no response to give to Neliel's revealing statement, and Sousuke returns his attention to the duel. The exchange of blows and the sound of metal ringing against metal echoes in the air along with the reverberating noise of Hollow laughter. Hirako is powerful. There's no doubt of that. But Sousuke's eyes are drawn to Ichigo-kun every time.

He never had much opportunity to face Ichigo-kun in the war years ago, so Sousuke has few personal accounts of the other man's skill, merely what he gleaned from Gin and his Espada. He still finds himself marveling, even to this day, the amount of power one simple teenager – not teenager anymore – can hold. A human turned Shinigami turned Vizard turned something _else_.

Sousuke can't give it name, but there's something different about Ichigo-kun's reiatsu. Even more than the obvious. It's a minor tremble of abnormality, an occasional spike or burst of power that seems incongruent with his normal energy. It feels familiar but foreign as well.

Sousuke frowns. He should know this, certain he's felt it before. His brow furrows as he searches his memory, accurate and deep as always. There are perhaps two instances where he remembers feeling this odd energy, and both of them revolve around the same item. An item which should no longer exist if Urahara is to be believed.

An item which had once held residence within a certain female Kuchiki.

Sousuke's eyes widen with almost comical disbelief.

' _No_ ,' he thinks. ' _They wouldn't dare. It'd be too dangerous, too risky._ '

Ichigo-kun would've never consented, and Urahara might be a judgmental bastard and idiot besides. But even Sousuke will admit that he wouldn't choose to do such a thing against Ichigo-kun's will. Urahara might hide secrets from his lover and conceal truths out of cowardice, but he wouldn't do this.

Or would he?

Sousuke doesn't have a chance to consider his revelation further because in the next instant, both Hirako and Ichigo-kun come to a skidding halt less than ten feet from his position. The both of them are covered in dust and rock. Their clothes are in tatters, but nothing beats Hirako's laughter and the fact that Ichigo-kun's shoulders look less weighted down.

"Spyin' on us, Sou-chan?" Hirako asks with that odd Hollow echo before he lifts a hand and dissolves the pharaoh-like mask obscuring his face. There's an enormous grin that curves his lips, one that speaks of endless teasing in Sousuke's near future.

"We were just curious," Neliel says before Sousuke can get a word out. She's still smiling, as though amused, and her eyes keep darting from Ichigo-kun to Hirako to Sousuke like she's puzzling out some hidden mystery.

The air vibrates as Ichigo-kun shifts out of bankai. He pulls the mask off his face and lets it crumble from his fingers.

"Like it's nothing you've not seen before," he retorts with a snort.

"Yeah, but Sou-chan hasn't had the chance fer an up close and personal view, right?" Hirako puts in with a snicker, leaning close to elbow Sousuke in the side as though there's some private joke between them.

"No, I've not had the pleasure of facing Kurosaki-kun on the battlefield," Sousuke concedes, if only to prevent Hirako from continuing with more absurd insinuations. That and a part of him regrets missing that opportunity. Kyouka Suigetsu would've loved to cross with Zangetsu; power and mystery always intrigued her so.

The fact that such a thing would never happen, _could_ never happen, is a resounding ping that echoes on the emptiness inside of him. As if he needed the reminder.

"Well, you'll have plenty of chance ta see it soon enough," Hirako says with another one of those shark-like grins.

See it but not join. Be nothing more than a witness on the sidelines, watching as someone else takes the throne that should have been his. He tries not to be bitter, but the thoughts crop up nonetheless.

"We should probably all get a little practice in," Neliel comments, her voice thoughtful as she tips her head to the side. "I see that you're getting a little rusty, too, Shinji."

Hirako grins. As though this were an insult he'd heard plenty of times before and is perfectly willing to prove her wrong.

"Oh? Care ta take this ta the sky, darling?"

"Only if you're not too tired," Neliel returns with a sickly sweet smile that impresses even Sousuke. He never knew she could sound so conniving.

Laughing, Hirako tears off his ragged tie and tosses it to the ground, whipping Sakanade through the air in a skilled gesture. "I'm not. But do ya think ya can stay adult long enough ta be a challenge?"

"We shall have to see, won't we?" Neliel draws her own blade, which is both broader and longer than Hirako's own.

Then, she leaps into the sky.

Sousuke can only watch as Hirako and Neliel cross blades, the latter with unexpected seriousness in her expression. Reiatsu fills the air, vibrating in opposite frequencies, and it strikes Sousuke how reflective Hirako and Neliel are of each other. One a Shinigami turned Hollow, another a Hollow turned Shinigami. If there is ever truly a case of opposites attracting, Sousuke is looking at that now.

"Do you miss it?" Ichigo-kun asks then, breaking the quiet between them. His voice is soft, almost sad.

Sousuke doesn't even need to ask what he means.

"Yes, actually," he responds with complete and utter honesty. "How could I not miss part of myself? Miss something and someone I've known for longer than you've been alive?"

Ichigo-kun shifts, rubs idly at one of the scratches on his arm. "Is that why you're doing this? Do you think you'll get it back?"

He hesitates. Since yes, Sousuke has considered that possibility, but it's always been largely outweighed by the reality that such a thing would never happen. Sousuke's come to terms with that, but there is still a small part of him that clings to the hope he won't have to be powerless forever. That someday, he'll taste that feeling of greatness again. That he'll feel Kyouka Suigetsu's weight in his hand and see her smile in his mind.

"It'd be a miracle to have her returned to me," Sousuke replies, as always opting for honesty because Ichigo-kun is one of the few who will appreciate it. "But I am not an unrealistic man. I do this because it must be done. I already know that I'll never have that again."

"But you wouldn't turn it down if it were offered."

Sousuke inclines his head. "Only a fool would deny that gift. I'm not so noble as to think I'm better off without it."

There's a moment of startled silence. Ichigo-kun has probably expected Sousuke to claim he doesn't want power, that he'd give it up out of some sense of right and wrong. But that would be a lie, and Sousuke wants to be better than that fool Urahara. He doesn't want to give Ichigo-kun reason to mistrust him. So long as Ichigo-kun asks, Sousuke will answer.

It's up to Ichigo-kun to ask the right questions.

"What's it like?" the younger man questions, and when Sousuke glances at him, he adds, "To be… well, normal again after being a Shinigami?"

It should almost be a cruel question, but somehow, it isn't. Somehow, perhaps the wording or the tone, actually makes Sousuke chuckle.

"As though being a Shinigami isn't normal?" he inquires ironically but shakes his head. "It is… _different_. There was never a time when I didn't have reiatsu. When I couldn't call it forth. When I couldn't hear Kyouka Suigetsu even distantly." He taps his fingers on his leg in thought and remembrance both, perhaps even in mourning. "I suppose it's like having one's reiatsu sealed or blocked. Only much deeper. Much farther reaching."

Something in Ichigo-kun's face twists, contorts with pained remembrance. It is a feeling he knows all too well then. It is a feeling Sousuke wouldn't wish on anyone, a feeling he can't quite explain. It's like a piece of himself is missing, a piece he can never regain.

Above them, Hirako and Neliel clash in a brilliant collision of reiatsu that sparks in all directions. They look to be having far too much fun, twisting the air around them into a frenzy. Blades ring together in a familiar threnody that burns in Sousuke's blood to join.

"I used to think about going back in time, forgetting I'd ever had need to wield Zangetsu, forgetting I'd ever met the old man," Ichigo-kun says, and his voice is so quiet Sousuke wonders if the Vizard is merely talking to himself. "But now, I can't imagine how I'd react if someone took him from me permanently. I think I'd go a little crazy." A half-smile quirks at the corner of his mouth.

Sousuke remembers waking to that emptiness inside of him. He knows exactly what Ichigo-kun means. For years, he wasn't sure he hadn't lost his mind.

"They are so much a part of us that it's difficult to imagine an existence without them," the brunet agrees. "I've learned to live with it, but there will always be a side of me that despises Hirako-san for taking her away."

"Do you blame him?"

"I can't," Sousuke retorts, trying to bite back the edge of bitterness and failing miserably. "That's what any wise man would do given the situation. Frankly, that's what I would've done."

Ichigo-kun runs a hand through his hair, disturbing bits of dust and flakes of drying blood. "Yeah, maybe." He quiets for a moment and just watches as Neliel and Hirako strike with enough energy to make the air rattle. "What about Seireitei? Did you hate having to leave it, too? I mean, it was your home, wasn't it?"

"Home is relative," Sousuke responds but pauses thoughtfully. "And Soul Society is so corrupt that it's hard to miss something you never particularly liked in the first place."

Ichigo-kun lifts a brow of disbelief. "You like being stuck in the living world?"

"In some ways, it's rather refreshing," Sousuke confesses. "It's easier being this way. Being out among the living humans. There were expectations but not nearly as many. I could be and do whatever I wished and not have to worry about whether I had enough power or political connections. I'm less restricted now; I don't have to go or grow at some arbitrary pace that I've no say in setting. Don't have to cage myself to fit in some pre-formed mold." He casts a look at his companion with a tilt of his head. "In case you haven't noticed, they're rather intolerant of anyone with reiatsu even a flicker different."

The Vizard snorts at that. "Yeah, I got that part."

"They've never made a larger mistake than the one they made with you," Sousuke comments before he can stop himself. "To so easily cast aside a friend and fellow warrior for a perceived possibility of threat? They are the fools who do not realize the value of what they've destroyed."

Ichigo-kun stares at him without blinking. There's a slight flush in his cheeks that Sousuke thinks he should attribute to recent exertion because there's no way Ichigo would be embarrassed by his words.

Cocking his head to the side, Ichigo-kun studies Sousuke with an almost eerie intensity. "You want me on the throne," he says. "I know this. You can't tell me you'd be satisfied watching me sit where you've always wanted to be."

"If you think power was my only intention, then I've obviously not done my part to explain what I wanted," Sousuke replies, thinking he must have mistaken that moment of softness given to him. "Soul Society needs a proper king, even if I'm not the one on the throne. I want change before I want revenge."

Ichigo-kun whirls toward him with something bright in his eyes. "Revenge," he repeats, latching onto that one word as though it has revealed something intrinsic. "For Kouichi, you mean."

Despite himself, Sousuke can't stop the loss of color in his face. He tucks his hands into his sleeves and forces a slow, steady breath.

"Unohana-san told you, I assume?"

"I know that he was her son and your friend." Ichigo-kun gives a slow nod. "And I know that he'd become a Vizard and Soul Society killed him for it." He pauses, as though fighting with his own feelings of anger. "And I know that they made his family disappear. That'd be reason enough to hate Seireitei."

Sousuke's gaze shifts to the sky, where Hirako has called his mask and Neliel's clothes lie in attractive tatters around her body. It's safer than looking at Ichigo. Sousuke's not sure he's ready to reveal this weakness yet.

"If you want to imply that my war against Soul Society was only personal, I can't stop you," he murmurs.

Ichigo-kun moves toward him; Sousuke can hear his steps crunch over the rocky ground.

"Unohana-san doesn't think that," he shoots back. "She believes you had the right intentions. She just thinks that you lost sight of your goals along the way. That you became lost in your need for revenge."

"And what do you think?"

The Vizard makes a soft, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. Strangely, he doesn't sound angry or argumentative. Just considerate. Like he's making an actual attempt to understand Sousuke without relying on anyone else's opinion.

"If I thought it was just revenge, I never would've agreed in the first place," Ichigo-kun responds and then sighs. "I think that your method was too bloody and full of unnecessary sacrifices. But Soul Society _is_ corrupt, and things need to change. So I'm still going to do it."

Sousuke doesn't bother to hide his surprise as he turns to look at Ichigo-kun, but the Vizard has already whirled away from him, moving to meet Hirako who's dropping to the ground dripping with sweat and looking quite exhausted. Neliel is grinning triumphantly – more for having maintained her adult form than a victory over Hirako no doubt. They both look far too satisfied and greet Ichigo-kun with equally pleased expressions.

Sousuke though is just intrigued. Ichigo continues to surprise him. Just when he thinks he understands everything there is to know, the Vizard turns his theories upside down. Leaving Sousuke flustered and confused.

It's an odd sensation. But not altogether an unpleasant one. Something that Gin could and did do often. But Ichigo isn't Gin, and Sousuke doesn't think of him in the same terms.

And perhaps that's what discomforts him most of all.


	29. Conversation

Ichigo wakes with the bitter taste of blood and bile on the tip of his tongue, body bathed in sweat, and thrashing in his sheets. He battles with the clinging, soaked fabric as though it seeks to keep him trapped and finally flings the sheets away from him violently. His heart is hammering in his chest, his breath trying to claw its way from his chest and getting trapped in his throat.

He closes his eyes, drags fingers through his hair, and keeps them there. He wonders if that simple grip will be enough to keep himself together. He tries to force his breathing to even out, slow and deep breaths that'll calm the sensations racing through his body. His reiatsu rattles the walls and the furniture, and Ichigo fights to reel it in before someone comes to investigate.

He's never realized just how much sharing his bed with someone else had been instrumental in keeping the nightmares away. Though he supposes he could also blame the recent stress as well. It's certainly not helping at any rate.

There's also the startling truth that he misses Kisuke, though he won't admit such a thing aloud. Not when his emotions are so ragged and when he's still so furious. He can certainly feel Kisuke's absence. They were friends before they were lovers after all, and Ichigo misses that relationship, that openness.

He could use that friendship right now.

His body trembles, but Ichigo tries to ignore it as he swings his legs over the end of the bed and sets his feet on the floor. One foot lands on cold wood, the other on the crumpled ends of his sweat-soaked sheets. He knows that there's no chance for any more sleep tonight. The three or four hours he managed will work well enough. They have for the past few nights anyway.

Rolling his neck to ease the cramp in his muscles, Ichigo rises to his feet. His body is heavy with fatigue as he wanders out of his quiet bedroom and into an equally silent hallway. He heads for the bathroom down the hall and closes the door behind him.

The bright light makes his dark-accustomed eyes flinch, but Ichigo ignores that, leaning over the sink to splash some water over his face. Rinsing away the sweat and drool and chasing away the last vestiges of his nightmare. He scrubs his palms over his face, trying to ignore the unpleasant churns of his belly and bites back on surges of bile. The nightmares are gone, but their effects remain. He still can taste the blood and ash of months past.

Ichigo looks in the mirror because it's there, even though he knows he won't like the eyes that stare back at him. He's young, but he doesn't feel it, and sometimes, it doesn't show in his face either. Lines of fatigue, pinched expression, wrinkles in his brow. He needs to shave, the stubble gracing his chin and cheeks oddly reminiscent of Kisuke. Not that Ichigo wants to think about the blond right now.

It's a different face than the one Ichigo remembers wearing during the war. He'd been young then. Young enough that shaving hadn't been a factor. Too young to be fighting. But really, who was counting? It wasn't as though his age made any difference to the invading forces. If Ichigo had pretended ignorance, had shoved his head in the ground, he would've been exactly like Isshin.

No, best not to think about him either.

Ichigo shakes his head, scrubs a hand towel over the lingering drops of water on his skin, and leaves the bathroom. He isn't keen on returning to bed. Tossing and turning and staring at a dark ceiling from an otherwise empty bed that still smells of Kisuke when he presses his head into the pillow. Things like that encourage him to forgive and forget when he'd rather cling to his anger right now, thank you very much.

He turns and notices that just down the hall, a light is on. This late, everyone should be asleep, even the more insomniac of the Vizard. Hachi might still be puttering around, but his room is on the other side of the warehouse. Curious, Ichigo follows the square of light to the kitchen, a second smaller entryway.

To his surprise, Aizen is sitting at the table. He is nursing a cup of something which smells like tea as he reads from a thick book, the title of which Ichigo can't read from his current spot. Aizen looks up at his entrance, surprise echoing in his expression.

"Why are you still awake?" Ichigo asks, inviting himself into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table, too.

"The only time this place is quiet is at night," Aizen answers with a small, amused smile. He folds his book closed, carefully saving his place. The writing is still far too small for Ichigo to make out the title.

"What? You don't like the daily noise and disorder?"

"It's not appealing, no," Aizen comments with a grimace of his own. He pauses, looking at Ichigo thoughtfully, those calm eyes quietly assessing. "You, however, are not normally found awake at this hour."

"Neither are nightmares good for sleep," Ichigo mutters, though ironically half the cause of his insomnia is sitting across the table from. He should have a surge of anger at that realization. Instead, he just feels tired.

Aizen doesn't look embarrassed or ashamed, just inclines his head. "I imagine not considering recent circumstances."

Ichigo winces. He folds his arms across the top of the table and lays his head on them, staring at the clock on the wall and watching the second hand tick by.

"When did my life become a really bad soap opera?"

From the corner of his eye, he catches Aizen's lip twitch. As though the former overlord is amused and doesn't want to show it.

"Knowing your father, could you expect any less?"

He turns his head, Ichigo catches Aizen's gaze. "You knew he was a Shinigami, didn't you?"

"I'm rather surprised no one else has noticed or even put two and two together." Aizen folds his hands over his abandoned book as if that's answer enough.

Ichigo doesn't bother to ask why Aizen never said anything. Ichigo can guess. It would've been pointless and could Ichigo honestly say that he would've believed him? Oh, maybe now he would, but back then? Back when Aizen had first come to Ichigo all but begging for help? Not a damn chance. He would have just seen it as another form of manipulation.

"Guess I must be some kind of idiot for not figuring it out sooner."

He buries his head back into his arms. The second hand continues to tick on, three am dragging slowly into four.

"You've had other things on your mind. Besides, you would've expected Kurosaki-san to tell you, correct?"

Ichigo snorts. "As opposed to lying all these years? Fuck yeah. That's what fathers are supposed to do, if I'm not mistaken."

"Then your ignorance is only logical," Aizen assures him.

"That… really doesn't make me feel better," Ichigo retorts and shifts position, feeling like a petulant child complaining that he wasn't allowed another hour of cartoons. He sits up then, eyes wandering, wanting to change the subject. "What are you reading?"

Aizen lifts the book to show the cover. "A last resort," he explains as Ichigo struggles to decipher what is obviously an unusual and fancy font. "Hirako doesn't stock my sort of literature."

A small smile curls Ichigo's lips at the thought of Shinji sitting down to quote Shakespeare.

"He doesn't strike me as the classical literature type," Ichigo agrees. "So what? You sit up by yourself late at night and read?"

"I also, on occasion, take the time to plot the demise of my enemies and detail my plans to regain my chance for godhood."

Once again, Aizen's lips twitch, and his eyes gleam with a rare humor. It takes Ichigo a moment to recognize Aizen's words for a joke, but when he does, his mouth quirks into a sideways grin.

"Funny."

"I try," Aizen replies dryly.

Ichigo shakes his head and pushes the chair back with a noisy screech, rising to his feet to poke around in the cupboards. He's not hungry but his hands need something to do.

"Do you even sleep?"

"You've shared quarters with Hirako. Do you honestly think I can?" Aizen returns almost rhetorically.

"Point taken." Cupboards open and close just as quickly, nothing immediately appealing in sight. "He tried to grope you in your sleep?"

This time, genuine amusement reflects itself in Aizen's tone. "He keeps reassuring me that it's all an unconscious reflex to the-"

"-warm body in his bed," Ichigo finishes for him. "Yeah, I've heard it all before. Shinji's crazy."

Success! He locates a box of cheese crackers and pulls it down, the weight informing him that it's about half-full.

"You won't find me disagreeing."

"Hmm." Ichigo pops a few of the fish-shaped crackers into his mouth and leans against the counter, watching Aizen sip his tea. "Kisuke was way off base, wasn't he? About Ichimaru, I mean?"

Aizen blinks at him, obviously confused. "I… pardon?"

He's dancing from topic to topic, Ichigo knows, but this is a little weird for him, all things considered. He and Aizen, sitting here and talking like they didn't use to be mortal enemies. Like they are something closer to friends. Ichigo's still not sure what he's supposed to see when he looks at Aizen. He's not even sure what Aizen sees when he looks at him in return.

Are they allies? Friends?

Ichigo doesn't hate Aizen, not the same way that Kisuke loathes him. He doesn't trust Aizen either, but that's a different story. He finds himself strangely relaxed around the former captain, not quite as tense and battle-ready as he would've expected. At least, not anymore. There's almost a level of comfort there. It's weird, and Ichigo doesn't know how to react to that.

He's not sure he likes the occasional thoughts that occur to him. Thinking things like Aizen's not as terrible as Ichigo always believed. That he's just as human – dead man aside – as the rest of them. That even terrible, evil overlords have things they regret and people they miss and families and friends.

Honestly, Ichigo's just not sure what to do when it comes to Aizen. He's off-balance and not sure how to get it back. Aizen confuses him as much as Isshin pisses him off and Kisuke makes his chest tighten.

Ichigo licks his lips and clears his throat.

"Ichimaru wasn't your lover," he clarifies, wondering why it seems important to him. "He was something else. Not just a subordinate."

For the first time, Aizen looks uneasy. Not the sort of uneasy that comes from someone caught in a lie. But an emotional disquiet, as though Ichimaru is a topic that Aizen isn't ready to discuss. Ichigo knows topics like that. It's still hard for him to bring up his mother except to certain people and remembering Renji's death is a raw wound.

"Gin was…" And here, Aizen pauses, hesitates, working his mouth but no sound emerges. "He was my star pupil, you could say. I taught him everything I knew and then even more when his thirst for knowledge proved deeper than my own."

Ichigo watches Aizen, surprised by the genuine affection he hears in the man's tone. Affection and something else. Sorrow perhaps. With a twist of regret. Ichigo knows that Aizen regrets killing his own uncle, but he's beginning to think Aizen regrets leading Ichimaru to his death, too.

"So… Ichimaru was pretty smart?" Ichigo asks then. Half-deflection, half-apology.

Fingers curl around Aizen's cup as he considers the question. "He was a prodigy, like Hitsugaya," the ex-captain explains and even seems to relax with the topic. "Graduated from the Academy after only a year and was immediately placed in the fifth division as an officer. He rose to a third-seat after only a few months."

Ichigo inclines his head, throwing a couple more crackers into his mouth. "Impressive."

He says that because it's true. Ichigo knows that many people consider him a prodigy for his quick improvement, but for someone just a Shinigami, Ichimaru's progression is pretty remarkable. Besides, talking about Ichimaru brings out something different in Aizen, something Ichigo's pretty sure he's never seen before.

Pride.

And not just in himself as Ichigo would expect, but pride in someone else. Not just for the fact that Aizen's hand had helped to guide him; no, it's something else. More like the pride a father has for a son. Which his kind of weird for Ichigo to think about, but he supposes it wouldn't be that unusual.

Aizen snorts, rising to his feet and bringing his cup with him. "It would've been more impressive if they would have given his captaincy when he deserved it, rather than settling for him as a last resort." He moves to the counter beside Ichigo and reaches for the teapot that still smells strongly of jasmine and oranges.

"What do you mean?" Ichigo questions, watching as Aizen pours the greenish liquid into his mug and then reaches for the small container of sugar.

"The third division had an opening three years before Gin was given the position. They passed him over in favor of a noble, some distant relative of the Shihouin. After all, Gin was nothing more than Rukongai trash who no one really liked besides."

There's resentment in Aizen's tone, more than Ichigo would've expected. The Vizard turns and pulls a mug down from the cabinet. The last thing he needs is caffeine, but hell, he won't be going to sleep anytime soon anyway.

"How'd he get it then?"

The corner of Aizen's lips curl into a small smile. "The noble met an unfortunate end at the hands of a Hollow. He never did learn how to watch his back."

How very convenient. Ichigo wonders if Aizen or Ichimaru had anything to do with it. But then, he's also seen how very incompetent many of the Shinigami are. And they do seem to go through captains like tissue paper considering how powerful they are supposed to be and their life expectancy. After all, wasn't the old fart like nearly three millennia old and Shunsui over two? Not to mention how old Jyuushiro and Unohana-san must be.

Ichigo stirs sugar into his own cup and watches the little particles dissolve. "You've known him a long time then."

"We were in the same division after all." Aizen brings his cup to his lips, turning to put his back to the cabinets. "I saw his potential long before anyone else could."

Again, that note of pride practically rings in Aizen's tone.

Ichigo considers and takes a sip. He never thought he'd see the day when he and Aizen could be standing in a kitchen, bare inches of space between them, talking together as though there were nothing odd about the scene. Ichigo knows he should resent the man for any things. He doesn't think his dislike will ever reach quite the same venom of Kisuke, and there are many things that Ichigo _does_ blame Aizen for, but it's hard to reconcile the evil overlord with the man standing next to him now.

"You know," Ichigo begins, choosing his words carefully. "Kisuke might've been wrong about you and Ichimaru, but you weren't entirely in the right either."

He turns his head and looks directly at Aizen, surprisingly close to the other man. This close, he can see how brown Aizen's eyes are, different than his own and with interesting striations of darker shades.

"Kisuke's a lot of things, but he'd never think of using me like that."

Confusion flickers in Aizen's gaze, probably because he can't fathom why Ichigo would bring up his arch nemesis at the moment. At this point, Ichigo thinks he's more of a chance of getting Aizen to stop egging Kisuke on than he has of encouraging the blond to think of Aizen in a better light. Ichigo wants his plans to have an element of success after all, and he has to admit that most of the vitriol comes from Kisuke's end.

Ichigo understands why. He knows enough about why Kisuke would hate Aizen. He knows about the Vizard and how that's Aizen's fault. He knows that Kisuke had been blamed for it and exiled because of it. And Ichigo understands. But Ichigo lost his patience with their bickering long ago.

A range of emotions flutter across Aizen's face, too quick for Ichigo to identify. Then, he looks away, staring at the far wall.

"If you are attempting to encourage some reconciliation between that man and I, you'd be better off with speaking sense to the Shinigami or some other equally impossible feat."

Ichigo shrugs. He takes another swallow of his tea – he made it too sweet, damn it – and turns to set the mug on the counter.

"I just think that if you guys actually paid attention, you'd realize how alike you are. Maybe that's what pisses you two off so badly."

"Friendship is an impossibility, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen says as Ichigo pushes off the counter and heads for the door with the thoughts of wearing himself out in the basement. "At best, you might expect a glacial tolerance."

"It'd be better than the childish squabbling," Ichigo mutters to himself and then pauses in the doorway, addressing Aizen again. "Goodnight. Enjoy your book."

Aizen's returned goodbye follows Ichigo out the door, murmured as though the former overlord says it distractedly, already deep in thought.

o0o0o

"Ichigo."

Well, this is certain to be an unpleasant encounter.

Ichigo cuts his eyes at Isshin before returning his attention to the book in front of him. His concentration has been shot, but at least it'll show Isshin just where Ichigo considers him on a list of importance.

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

"Color me surprised," Ichigo says with a snort. "Now that it's convenient for you, I suppose."

He doesn't have to look up to see Isshin flinch. He can feel the guilt vibrating in his father's reiatsu.

"I deserved that," Isshin allows.

' _And a hell of a lot more_ ,' Ichigo adds to himself, but he doesn't say it aloud.

To do so would only make him sound like a sulking child, and even if he feels the part, he doesn't want to show it. Ichigo knows he should be treating this like an adult, but apparently, Isshin has never considered him one, so what's the point?

"So did you just leave Yuzu and Karin to fend for themselves, or did you actually bother to make sure they were being looked after this time?" Ichigo asks, turning a page he hasn't actually read. He doesn't want to look at his father, so staring at the black and white text in front of him suits his purposes just fine.

"Your sisters are old enough that they don't need a babysitter," Isshin counters, and when Ichigo finally _looks_ at his old man with an outraged glare, Goat-Face quickly amends, "But they are with someone trustworthy."

Ichigo twitches and slams his book closed. "Who?" he demands, sitting up in his chair. "Some human who knows nothing about our world?"

He twitches again because it's still a kick in the gut to him. Isshin is a Shinigami and always has been. It's not just Ichigo's world that no one else will understand. It's a world that has always belonged to Isshin, too. Even if Ichigo didn't know it.

It'd be just like Goat-Face to think some human would be capable of protecting Yuzu and Karin. Sometimes, Ichigo thinks his father lives in a happy land of denial. Where if he just closes his eyes, pretends it's not happening, and hopes it'll all go away.

"No, a Shinigami."

"That's no better!" Ichigo growls, praying to some unknown deity that this kind of stupidity isn't inherited. "Did you conveniently forget that the Shinigami are the reason I'm here in the first place?"

Isshin shifts, a motion that Ichigo would've taken for discomfort in anyone else. But no, Goat-Face is too stupid to be uncomfortable. Too stupid to realize that the rising tension in the room is only getting worse.

"And Shinigami helped you escape," Isshin says through what sounds like gritted teeth, like he's trying his hardest to approach this calmly and rationally. Tough for him, Ichigo's tired of being calm and rational. "They're not all your enemy, and as much as I hate the little bastard, he'll die before he lets something happen to Karin."

Possibilities swirl inside Ichigo's mind before he has to clamp down on a visible sign of his relief. Isshin's right. At least, in this.

A bitter smile curls Ichigo's lips. "And how long did it take you to figure that one out, huh? Or did Karin even get to tell you? Do _they_ even know who you are?"

"They know now," Isshin says, and this time, when he shifts, it's out of discomfort. "Even leaving Soul Society, it's still managed to find me. I don't like the Shinigami, but he's better than the alternative."

"Hitsugaya Toushirou," Ichigo snaps as something inside of him twists sharply. "That's his name, and don't you damn forget it."

The idea of Toushirou dating his sister has always been cute and amusing, and Ichigo's always vowed to himself that he'll rip the brat to pieces if he hurts Karin. But he also knows Toushirou, knows the kind of man that the captain is and knows that such a threat won't even be necessary. He fought next to Toushirou in Aizen's war, watched the captain lose friends and suffer physically. Which is a hell of a lot more than Isshin can claim.

So yeah, Ichigo will defend Toushirou. He'll make sure that Isshin doesn't forget who Toushirou is or accord him the proper respect. At least, Toushirou had the balls to fight and stand up for his own convictions. At least, Toushirou doesn't lie about who he is to the people who care about him.

Isshin sighs, looking for all the world as though he's the one who hurts the most. "I haven't forgotten his name. And don't use that tone with me. I'm your father, Ichigo."

He snorts again. "It's too late to apply for that job. The position's been filled."

"By who? Kisuke?"

Isshin sneers, and this time, he doesn't even bother to hide the disgust in his face. How quickly friends have gone to enemies, it seems. This is what Kisuke wanted to protect so badly?

"Great choice _there_ , son."

Ichigo growls, throwing himself from his chair and rising to his feet. "Drop it, _Isshin_. We are none of your business."

"There are things you don't know about him, Ichigo," Isshin starts to defend, but he's cut off.

"Yeah? Well, that much was made pretty clear when you ambushed me," Ichigo shoots back, agitation coiling in his limbs. "Great job, by the way. Nice to see you still cause chaos everywhere you go."

Isshin works his jaw before making a frustrated sound. As if Ichigo's the one acting without reason here.

"Ichigo, he's not the man you think he is."

"Neither are you!" The Vizard snarls, hands forming fists at his side as he tries to rein in his reiatsu; Hiyori gets pissy when he makes the walls shake. "Idiotic. Clumsy. Unaware. Just a human. Just a doctor. Some guy who spouts love poems to the huge picture of his wife. Someone who genuinely cares about his kids, even if he has no clue what's going on. That's who I thought Kurosaki Isshin was." He jabs a hand towards the man's chest. "You… you're just a stranger to me."

Goat-Face flinches. But the bastard still holds his ground, so wrapped up in his own righteousness he can't see that he's standing over a bottomless pit.

"And Kisuke isn't."

Ichigo takes a step toward his father, knowing he shouldn't attack the man, but oh, how he wants to. There's a limit to being this stubborn, this damned full of himself.

"This isn't about him! This is about you! You and your lies." He jabs out again, and it nearly connects this time. "Yes, Kisuke lied to me, and yes, part of the reason was to protect you. He'll have to answer for that. But you put him in that position in the first place. You are the one who trapped him in the corner."

"It's my fault he couldn't keep his hands off my son?" Isshin hisses. Incredulous. Offended. Reiatsu climbing in the room until the walls rattle and objects teeter precariously in their shelves.

"Stop it! Argh. Just shut the fuck up, okay?" Ichigo shouts, hands whipping through the air. "I'm not going to sit here and let you throw blame on Kisuke like none of this is your problem." He jerks a pointed finger out to keep from punching him. "You think he took advantage. Fine. But how did I get there in the first place, Isshin? Where else was I supposed to go, _Dad_?" He wonders if Isshin the Oblivious can read the acid in his tone, see it for the vitriolic sarcasm that his words actually are.

"Not to him."

"Well, I certainly couldn't go to normal Kurosaki-sensei now could I?" Ichigo says, and suddenly, he's tired. It's too exhausting talking to Isshin. "You want to figure out who to blame? Start looking in the mirror."

He holds Isshin's gaze for the length of a second, ignoring the blaze of hurt he sees in his father's eyes. Ichigo doesn't feel guilty for that. If Isshin could feel just an iota of the rage and disquiet that's storming through Ichigo, maybe then he'll understand.

Uninterested in anything else Goat-Face might have to say, Ichigo pushes past his father and leaves the room. Swearing that if he follows, violence might just ensue. Ichigo's pissed at Kisuke as much as he's pissed at Isshin, but he'll be damned if he sits there and lets Isshin continue to act like none of this is his fault. Ichigo wants answers, wants explanations, not more of this self-righteous blame game.

He's surprised that their altercation hadn't gained an audience. The hall is empty when Ichigo storms into it, struggling to bridle in reiatsu that seeks out a target, any target. Something to ease the tightening tension in his belly. The warehouse might be larger than Kisuke's bungalow, but it still feels like a prison. Ichigo can't go outside for his own sake. But he's sorely tempted to do so just to relieve some tension. Facing off against a few Shinigami could only help him at this point.

Ichigo sighs, and without a destination in mind, he turns down a random corridor. A startled sound, and his quick reflexes are all that save him from all but bowling Neliel over. In fact, her hands shoot out, grasping his shoulders and drawing the both of them to a halt.

"Sorry," Ichigo says and winces. An ache already grows in his skull, pulsing at his temples and making his head throb.

"It's fine." Neliel smiles at him, but it's a light one, her eyes roaming over him in concern. "Are you all right?"

Ichigo feels a bitter laugh burble up inside of him at the question, but Neliel doesn't deserve an acerbic response. He just shakes his head and lifts a hand to press the heel of it against his brow.

"Never mind, that's a stupid question," she corrects herself and squeezes his shoulders warmly before dropping her hands. "I was heading into the kitchen. Care to join me?"

"Is there a bottle of aspirin in there?"

She chuckles. "I think so."

If anything, Neliel's company is preferable to anyone else's, Ichigo decides. He nods and follows her down the hall, putting as much distance between himself and Isshin as possible. He dearly hopes he doesn't run into Kisuke either. Ichigo can't promise he'll be civil, and he's still not overly impressed with the shopkeeper's behavior as of late. He understands, but that doesn't mean he condones it.

Shinji's kitchen – well, it belongs to all of the Vizard, but it's easier for Ichigo if he just calls it Shinji's – is huge. It would have to be to feed as many people as it does, and it's stocked enough that most professional chefs would salivate over the pots, pans, and counter space. Yet, the Vizard eat a surprising amount of takeout. Yuzu would consider it such a waste; Ichigo just wonders how the hell the pay for it.

Ichigo plops himself down at the table, resting his chin on his palm as he watches Neliel putter around with a purpose. She's even kind enough to bring him a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. He grunts his gratitude and swallows three of the pills, hoping that they'll chase away the pounding in his brain. He doubts it though. Human medicines just don't work the same way on him anymore. Not when most of his problems are spiritual in nature. He'd give his sword arm to have Unohana-san or Hanatarou here right now. Even better, Inoue with her powers; nothing works better than that.

"So… Shinji's not lurking around anywhere?" he questions as Neliel pulls out a pan and some ingredients from the cupboard. He thinks he sees a carton of cocoa powder but can't be sure.

"Lurking?" the Arrancar repeats and laughs again, moving smoothly around the kitchen. "That's a strange thing to call it. And no, last I checked, he, Love, and Rose were talking strategy in the sun room."

Strategy. For the invasion Ichigo is supposed to be leading against Soul Society. Right. Ichigo probably should join them. But later. After his head has stopped aching and the churning in his belly settles to a more manageable level.

"I see."

Ichigo closes his eyes, attempting to breathe slowly. One hand lifts, rubbing at his sternum, aching painfully and always worse with the onset of stress.

Quiet settles in the kitchen as whatever Neliel is making begins to take shape, bubbling on the stovetop. The sweet smell of milk and chocolate fill the room, and Ichigo raises his brow.

"Are you making hot chocolate?" he asks, unable to hide his surprise. Isn't that more of a drink for kids? She's not about to change back, is she?

Neliel grins as she pulls two mugs down from a cabinet and fishes a bag of marshmallows from who knows where.

"Don't you like it?"

To be honest, Ichigo hasn't had it since his mother died. She, like Neliel, always made it from scratch. As though the powdered stuff offended her or something.

"I haven't had it in years," he answers, rubbing at his chin.

He watches as she pours the thick brown liquid into mugs and plops a couple of large marshmallows into the top of each one. She leaves the rest of it on the stove to keep warm while she brings the cups to the table and sets one down in front of him.

"Hachi taught me how to make it," Neliel explains, perching in a chair beside Ichigo and bringing her mug to her lips. She blows across the surface to cool it down. "I was surprised how much I liked it. And around here, it disappears quickly."

Ichigo curls both hands around the warm mug, staring down at the offered drink. It smells good, just like his mother used to make, threatening to drag him down into nostalgia.

"My mom used to make it all the time," Ichigo says quietly. It's not something he usually tells people, but Neliel isn't just anyone. She'll understand. "Especially when one of us needed to cheer up."

"A wise woman," Neliel comments, sipping carefully.

Ichigo nods and stares at a melting marshmallow. "I wonder if she knew what Isshin is. I wonder if she knew what I was seeing that day."

' _I wonder if she'd still be alive if_ _ **I**_ _had known to be wary of that little girl? If Isshin had bothered to explain things, would I have known better?_ '

A warm hand falls over his wrist then.

"I think that your mom was only doing what all moms must do – protect their children," Neliel says, and though she doesn't know the story, not all or even in part, Ichigo feels like she understands.

That doesn't make it hurt any less. Ichigo can ask himself these questions now. Why hadn't Isshin told him? Why had Isshin lied? What did he think that would accomplish? Why couldn't he just open his big, fat mouth?

"Yeah," Ichigo agrees and lifts the cocoa to his lips, breathing in the aroma. He sips cautiously, pleased to find that it resembles his mother's greatly. "This is good, Nel."

Hazel eyes sparkle at him. "Thanks. Though I will admit an ulterior motive."

Ichigo's brow crinkles. "What do you mean?"

"You looked in need of a calm moment." She leans back in her chair, holding her mug with both hands. "And maybe an open ear, too."

"That obvious, huh?"

Her lips quirk into a smile. On the surface, she and Shinji can be so different, but deep down, they're the same. They both have the same way of looking at people and seeing what they try so hard to hide.

"Any more agitated and your reiatsu would've rattled the pictures off the wall." Neliel cocks her head to the side. "Between your father and Kisuke-san, things are difficult, yes?"

Ichigo pokes at the marshmallow. He watches it bob up and down, turning the dark chocolate into a creamy brown color.

"That's putting it lightly, but yeah."

"Have you tried talking to Kisuke-san?" she inquires gently.

Snorting, Ichigo takes a sip of his cocoa. "No."

Neliel nods, a contemplative hum emerging from her throat. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not in the mood to get lied to again?" Ichigo says, but it comes out more of a question. He leans forward, sets the cup on the counter, hands curled around it as he stares at the swirling marshmallow.

"How do you know Kisuke-san won't try to tell you the truth? To apologize?" Nel asks, voice full of logic that Ichigo doesn't want to acknowledge.

It's a childish part of him that wants to keep ignoring Kisuke because if it causes the man the same pain that Kisuke caused him, Ichigo won't be upset. He'll consider it justified.

Ichigo buries his face in the mug, drinks deeply of the significantly cooled mixture, and gets a big gulp of the last of the marshmallow. As the sweet chocolate spills over his tongue, he pretends to consider her suggestion.

"Are you on his side?"

Neliel shakes her head, a touch of sadness darkening her eyes. "I'm not on anyone's side, Ichigo. I just want to see everyone happy. The connection that you and Kisuke-san have… I don't want to see it lost." She smiles, but it's missing the usual sparkle, dimmed by incredible sorrow.

It's a reminder to Ichigo that Nel understands that loss all too well herself. Her own Fraccion, her closest companions for so many years, are dead. Killed by a Shinigami who either hadn't known better or had and thought that the loss of two Hollows wouldn't matter in the long run no matter what side they claimed.

Ichigo exhales sharply and focuses on his mug. "I don't think things will be the same again."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Nel agrees, her fingers tapping a nonsense rhythm against the outside of her mug. "But you'll never know if you don't give him the chance to try, Ichigo. That much is certain."

She has a point. Ichigo knows this, as much as he knows he's just not ready to hear it. Kisuke can apologize until his face turns blue, that doesn't mean Ichigo's ready to forgive him. And with Isshin clinging to his self-righteous certainty, Ichigo really doesn't want anything to do with either of them right now.

"Is that hot chocolate?"

An excited voice pierces the contemplative atmosphere between Ichigo and Neliel. They both turn to see Lisa strolling into the kitchen, making a beeline for the stove as if she were some bloodhound following a scent.

Neliel chuckles. "It is. Help yourself."

Not that Lisa needs the invitation. She's already pulling a mug from the cabinet and tipping the pan to fill it and grabbing a handful of marshmallows from the bag.

"Did someone make hot chocolate?"

Love this time, his voice curious as he strides into the kitchen without even glancing at the table.

"Stuff it, Love. There's only enough for one more," Lisa says, pushing the pan out of his reach.

"And you're saving it for who exactly?" Love demands, making a grab for the pan. Something Ichigo really doesn't think is wise considering that it's still hot and if they ended up dropping it no one would get whatever was left.

Shaking his head, Ichigo quickly finishes off his mug and rises to his feet to drop it into the sink. The last thing he wants to do is find himself in the middle of a Vizard scuffle over the last bit of cocoa. Neliel seems more amused by the situation, and as Ichigo leaves the room, there's a defining _pop_ as she slides back into child form.

It's a miracle she held onto it for that long.

Unsure if he should be amused or disturbed by the sibling-like scuffle over the last of the hot chocolate, Ichigo makes his escape feeling cheerier than he had before. He's still rather pissed with Isshin and in no mood to hear Kisuke's excuses, but the pain in his chest has vanished, and he's lost the urge to hit things.

Perhaps he ought to share hot chocolate with Neliel more often.


	30. Remorse

Kisuke breathes, closes his eyes, and listens to the sound of chemicals bubbling, glass tinkling, and the unmistakable noise of a laboratory in motion. Hachi isn't as much a scientist as Kisuke himself, but the puttering around is enough to provide him with a fully stocked lab. One that he has so graciously allowed Kisuke to use. It feels a lot like coming home to Kisuke, who hasn't touched beaker or Bunsen burner or strange chemical in months now.

At least here, he can focus on something potentially salvageable, rather than the shitstorm he's allowed his life to become.

He doesn't have anything particular in mind. He's taken a look at some of Hachi's ongoing experiments. Has even brainstormed with the Vizard over possible solutions of creating a gate for everyone to enter Soul Society. But Kisuke knows better. He wants to lose himself in scientific calculations, but he'd be a fool to attempt anything overly complicated in his current state of mind. He's more likely to blow himself and the warehouse to pieces.

Kisuke fiddles around, poking listlessly at a few chemicals and letting other theories run rampant in his head. Whispers of guilt, however, remain prevalent. Stabbing him in the belly and clenching on his heart.

It's been a couple days since Isshin arrived and threw everyone into chaos. A few days since Ichigo tossed him out, and Kisuke had known better than to argue. And Kisuke would have to be both blind and dumb to miss how everything was affecting his lover. More so than Kisuke's own pain are the flashes he catches in Ichigo's eyes when he manages a glimpse of him. What few there are.

Ichigo has been avoiding him with skills better employed by the Onmitsukidoh. Kisuke would know; he'd been one once.

He also knows what it is Ichigo wants from him. But Kisuke's not sure he has the courage to give it. Perhaps it shouldn't matter since Ichigo is already angry, but there's still a chance to salvage a friendship. If Kisuke spills the full truth now, maybe even that will whittle away into nothing.

He wonders if he's going to spend the rest of his life paying for those mistakes.

Kisuke sighs and turns the burner down to a lower setting. He's not paying enough attention, and this isn't his lab. It'd be rude to destroy Hachi's equipment.

He leans forward, elbows on the desk, and watches the liquid bubble slowly, like one of those lava lumps. He wants to focus, but all he can think about are the look on Ichigo's face and his biting words.

" _You're not the man I thought you were, Kisuke. I didn't think you were the type to kick a man when he's down."_

" _I never knew this part of you, and I don't know that I like it."_

Kisuke doesn't regret his words to Aizen. The traitorous bastard deserves every flinch, every spark of pain that he can cause. Kisuke hates that Ichigo doesn't understand. Ichigo doesn't have that vile need for revenge. Even now, he can't completely despise the Soul Society that's driven him from his home and family and tried to imprison him without just cause.

Kisuke will never understand why he's been made into the villain here.

"So this is where yer hidin'."

A voice slides into the contemplative quiet of the laboratory, disturbing Kisuke from his muses. He glances over his shoulder to see Shinji striding inside, his face unreadable.

"Or should I say sulking."

Kisuke turns back toward his experiment, idly watching the chemical bubble. "I don't know what you mean."

Shinji snorts, pulling up a stool next to Kisuke and sliding into it as though invited. He wisely makes no effort to touch any of the equipment in front of him.

"Liar," he says and plants an elbow on the desktop, leaning his chin on his palm so that he can all but stare at Kisuke. "Yer sittin' here wallowin' in your own pity like there's nothin' ta be done about anythin'."

"Is this an attempt to cheer me up?" the younger man asks crossly, cutting his eyes at the Vizard. "Because if so, you suck at it."

"Why would I want ta cheer ya up? Ya hurt Ichigo. It's only fair that ya hurt in return." There's a particularly nasty note to Shinji's voice that makes something inside Kisuke's belly twist uncomfortably.

Not only has he driven Ichigo away, he's done the same for Shinji, too. Points to Kisuke for excelling in all matters of social interaction.

He turns away, sliding off the stool and pretending great interest in another one of the set-ups in the room. "Well, now that you've succeeded in making me feel worse I suppose you consider yourself victorious?"

"Yer not a martyr, so stop actin' like one. I gave ya a chance, remember?" Shinji questions, and though Kisuke can't see him, he knows that the man is rolling his eyes. "It's not my fault ya waited too long. And playing this ' _woe is me_ ' game isn't gonna make Ichigo forgive ya any quicker."

"You say that as if his forgiveness will come eventually." Kisuke's hands flatten against the desktop. He looks down on them, watches his fingers as they flex against the grainy wood.

"It might. If ya took yer head outta yer ass long enough ta properly apologize and give him the explanations he's owed."

Heat soaks into his cheeks. Kisuke is glad that Shinji can't see his face because he knows that Shinji's right. Only, Kisuke doesn't want to admit that.

"Yer being selfish, Kisuke."

"I know," he replies quietly and closes his eyes, rubbing his fingers against the rough wood in an attempt to ground himself. "I know that. I'm a selfish bastard. I don't even need you to say it."

There's a screech as Shinji pushes the stool back, a rustle of fabric as he rises to his feet. "Admittin' ya have a problem is always the first step."

Kisuke whirls, pinning the Vizard with a firm glare. "This isn't a joke, Shinji."

"Did it sound like one?" He arches a brow. " 'Cause I sure as hell don't think it is either. Between ya and Isshin, I can't tell which one's breaking him more. When he's already been abandoned by Soul Society and forced ta go on the run, ya two are only making things worse. If I wasn't convinced that it's better this way, I'd have thrown both of ya out on your asses already."

Kisuke works his jaw. "Leaving plenty of room for Aizen, I imagine."

"And now, yer just being petty," Shinji retorts with a roll of his eyes. One hand gestures vaguely. "Sou-chan's evil incarnate; yes, we all know that. But tell ya what, Kisuke, ya ain't lookin' too pristine right now either. At least, Sou-chan's honest with himself, which is more than you can say."

"Honest enough to destroy the lives of hundreds of innocent people in his selfish pursuit of godhood," Kisuke snaps, arms folding across his chest. "Oh yeah, Aizen's the _perfect_ picture of what I should strive to be."

Shinji stares at him, unmoved. "And yer just pissed 'cause Sou-chan stole yer boyfriend. Admit it. Ya wouldn't hate him half as much if it weren't fer how close he and Ichigo are getting."

Kisuke bites back a bitter retort. He knows that Shinji's right. Yet again. Yeah, he hates Aizen because of the past, but he has to admit that the present isn't soothing over those bitter feelings either. Aizen strides in like he isn't a murderer and ruins the life Ichigo was struggling to rebuild. Then, he has the gall to act pathetic about losing his own damn war. Worse, he's now working his magic on Ichigo, convincing him that storming Soul Society and taking the throne is the only choice Ichigo has.

Is Kisuke so wrong for thinking it might not be the best course of action? He'd been there, by Ichigo's side, for all of the war. He's seen the affect it had, the blood and the pain and the nightmares and the grief. He _knows_ how much Ichigo hated fighting, hated the whole idea of war. And Aizen wants to throw Ichigo back into it just because he lost the first time and Aizen can't _stand_ that failure.

"Admit it?" Kisuke repeats, barely refraining from a snarl. "Is that what you want me to do? Then fine. I admit it. Aizen's not _worth_ Ichigo's time and attention, but he's getting it anyway. It's like someone's rewarding him for all the shit he's done, and I can't _stand_ it."

The jealousy sits so heavy in his belly Kisuke's certain he's going to have to vomit to get it out. He can't stand that Aizen is taking the place that should be Kisuke's. And worse, Kisuke knows that he can only blame himself for leaving that vacancy.

"Well, I appreciate yer honesty," Shinji drawls as he straightens, unfolding his arms from his chest. "Now if only ya can share that with Ichigo, ya might actually get somewhere."

Kisuke snorts. "You don't actually believe that," he mutters, whirling back toward the lingering experiment. He can't even remember what he'd been puttering around with; a new form of Soul Candy, is it? "I still don't understand why you don't hate Aizen yourself. Why you've been best buddies with him since the day we left the house."

"I'd explain it ta ya, if I thought you'd actually listen," Shinji says, moving back toward the door as though he's done his deed for the day now that he's scolded Kisuke and added more salt to open wounds. "But ya hate Aizen, and you'll never listen to the truth about him. Hatred's only poisoning ya. It's a pity ya can't see it."

Before Kisuke can even think of a proper retort, Shinji sweeps from the room with all the self-righteous swagger of a man who thinks he knows everything. And that's one more thing that Aizen has stolen from him, Kisuke thinks. Shinji had once been his friend, his companion in hatred. But somehow, even that's changed.

Closing his eyes, Kisuke seethes, tries to breathe in and out as his hands clench and unclench. His own memories seek to rise to the surface, battering at the barriers he'd pushed them behind; those same walls crumble under the pressure. He wants to think that it isn't fair, but that's a childish thought better saved for childish men.

Even years after his defeat, Aizen is still managing to destroy Kisuke's life. How ironic is that?

o0o0o

Kisuke gives up on Hachi's laboratory after the second day of watching liquids burble to no calming effect. He avoids the training room below because that's where Ichigo spends most of his time, and it's become obvious that Ichigo wants nothing to do with him. The least Kisuke can do is respect that wish.

He spends most of his time in either the sun room or the bedroom he is forced to share with Isshin. As luck would have it, the both of them have managed to mostly avoid each other and sleep in a stony silence at night. It's uncomfortable, and Kisuke longs for the familiarity of sharing a bed with Ichigo, especially when the nightmares return. But he keeps such thoughts to himself.

He doesn't deserve that comfort.

Today, Kisuke has found himself the lone occupant of their shared room. One that smells faintly of dust and disuse since it was the last guest room and hadn't been opened in quite some time. Kisuke can't tell if he hates the musty odor or is glad that it doesn't carry a lingering scent of Ichigo.

He has pen and paper in hand with the intention of writing several letters, mostly to those he knows he can trust in Seireitei. The Shinigami have a strange blind spot when it comes to written correspondence, so Kisuke doesn't fear that they'll be intercepted. He knows Ichigo's making plans to raze Soul Society soon. Kisuke's determined that he'll have all the support he needs once he gets there.

The words won't come, however, not even to Yoruichi. So Kisuke sits and stares with Shinji's accusations ringing in the back of his mind and Ichigo's disappointment more heartbreaking than anything else.

"Moping again, I see."

Kisuke closes his eyes briefly, searching inside himself for a well of patience that he knows exists. "Please don't start, Isshin. I have no mood for one of your fits," he says as he sets pen and paper aside.

Isshin stands in the doorway, filling it up with his very presence in a manner that Kisuke knows is meant to intimidate. It doesn't work, however.

"Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you, is that it?" He sneers, a look that twists his features into something ugly and unkind.

Kisuke is on his feet before he can convince himself to not be riled. Isshin has an uncanny way of getting under his skin, much like Aizen in fact. And wouldn't Isshin be thrilled to realize that?

"I don't expect anything from you," the blond hisses. "Except for you to leave me alone." There's a tremble in his limbs, but it's not out of fear, and Kisuke swallows it back. "You've made your point, Isshin. Just leave me to regret keeping my promise to you in peace."

The former Shinigami's face mottles with shades of red, and Kisuke can practically see the steam pouring from his ears. He takes a step forward, one that might be menacing to anyone who doesn't know better. Kisuke won't like hurting Isshin – Ichigo wouldn't approve… mostly. But he's not going to stand here and get pummeled either. His eyes flick to Benihime, not that he needs her to take Isshin down.

Isshin knows just as well as Kisuke that they aren't evenly matched. But Kisuke's had a century in the living world to learn new skills, while Isshin's been pretending to be human.

"I trusted you," his one-time friend growls, eyes dark and dangerous. "I trusted you with my son, fully believing that you wouldn't harm him, but when I'm not looking, you crawl into his bed. And yet, you _dare_ regret making that promise to me."

"I'm not the one who lied to him for _years_ ," Kisuke practically spits the words. "I held my tongue because you asked me to, and the whole time he thought he was a monster. A monster, Isshin! Your own goddamned son! All because you were too cowardly to tell him the truth." His reiatsu lashes around him, and Kisuke struggles to reel it in. "You attack me because I haven't told him the whole story and neglect to look at your own mistakes."

One hand slashes through the air. "This and that are two different matters," Isshin counters, his voice growing loud enough that it echoes in the room. "But you..." He shakes his head violently. "He's my son!"

"And yet, you haven't bothered to act like a father to him," Kisuke retorts as the anger settles cold and deadly in his stomach.

Shinji might be willing to dance around, but Kisuke won't. Not anymore.

"Ichigo is right, Isshin. He could've used your help." He takes a step forward, shortening the space between them so he can lower his voice to an accusing hiss. "You're so proud of your daughters, but you've never once told me how much you are of him. Why is it _now_ he's your son? You're only his dad when it suits you!"

Isshin looks positively apoplectic. His eyes are eerily dark, and his face is a crimson shade that can't conceal his fury. He goes quiet, too, and Kisuke knows they've gone past the point of civility.

"You took advantage of him," he retorts. As always, bull-rushing over the fact that some of the blame is his own. "He trusted you, and you abused that."

Kisuke feels sick. But only because the implications of Isshin's accusations are trying to tarnish something that he considers precious.

"It's not like that at all. How perverted to you think I am?" he can't help but ask, fury faded to shock. "This is a recent development."

"Recent as in, Yoruichi left for Seireitei, and you needed something to ease that itch, right?" Isshin sneers, his own reiatsu rising and sitting around him like a hawk ready to strike sharp and with claws. "Using him like a replacement for how long? Months? Years?"

Kisuke straightens so sharply it feels as if someone has inserted a metal rod into his spine, blistering cold metal that sears his innards and turns them to ice.

"Yes, for years," he hisses. "If by this, you mean helping him. Being a friend and a support the way his father should've been. "

"You're not his father!"

"Thank heavens for that!" the blond shouts, an echo to Isshin's roar that makes his throat hurt but loud enough to make his friend pause and blink at him. "Because if I was his father, I'd be the same man who lied to him. Who watched him stumble around in the dark and did nothing." His voice drops lower, so low he isn't sure Isshin will be able to hear him. "Who blames Ichigo for a death he couldn't have prevented."

It's Isshin's turn to take a step back. To pale so quickly it's hard to imagine he was ever flushed with anger in the first place.

"You don't-"

"That's bullshit, Isshin. I've been a friend of the family too long for you to lie to me," Kisuke says. His breath is sharp and erratic. "Masaki's death wasn't his fault. You can't blame him for that forever. He was just a child!"

"He's still a child."

Kisuke snorts, rolling his eyes no matter how childish the action may seem. "One who fought in a war and saved thousands of lives, as well as taking them. Not like you'd know since you couldn't bother to be there. You couldn't even bother to ask, either me or him what was happening. If he hadn't come home, you wouldn't have known whether he lived or died." He rakes a ragged hand through his hair.

Talk of the war takes Kisuke back as well, but he pushes through the memories anyway.

"Do you know how many times your son has nearly died?" Kisuke demands, his insides clenching as his mind decides to give him several sick reminders.

_Byakuya looming over him, a final gift he says. To die as a human, lying in the wet streets with his blood mingling with the rain. Discarded as though he's nothing more than trash._

_The sharp tines of Zabimaru ripping through his shoulder, tearing away meat and sinew, blood splashing and turning everything a scarlet shade. Kisuke hadn't been there, but he's seen the scars. He's touched the jagged mark left behind. He can't even imagine the kind of pain Ichigo suffered. He thanks whatever deity who'll listen that the Hollow's mask dulled the blow._

_The scarless region of his chest where Ulquiorra had blasted him with a cero, straight through, seemingly killing him if not for his Hollow's ability. Another time when Kisuke hadn't been there. When he'd only heard the story from a terrified Inoue and could only imagine the horror that Ichigo must've faced._

_And countless other injuries, not fatal, but disastrous all the same. Cuts and slashes and punctures and broken bones and scraped skin and pain after pain after pain..._

"Because I can remember each and every one of them," Kisuke goes on.

He's sick to his stomach, likely as pale as Isshin is now. His hands are cold and sweaty at his sides, and he rubs them against his pants.

"Do you know how many enemies he's killed? I know that, too." His voice is barely louder than a whisper. "Did you even know that he cried after his first kill? You're right, Isshin. He's just a kid."

Kisuke lifts his gaze. Isshin appears stricken, stunned into place. But it needs to be said.

"So tell me again that you're his father."

Isshin swallows thickly, the motion noticeable even from the distance between them. He's silent for a few heartbeats. His eyes look old. Like he's on the cusp and just needs one more little push. But he balks at the knife's edge.

"He's my son," Isshin insists, and he says it like he wants to believe. "That's all that matters."

But to Kisuke, it sounds so very weak.

He turns, facing Isshin fully. "Really? Then what's the name of his zanpakutou? What does his bankai look like? What's the shape of the scar on his right shoulder?" he demands and bites his cheek just to control himself. "You don't know any of that. You don't know him!"

"And I suppose you do?"

Isshin is starting to be belligerent again. Like no matter what Kisuke says or does, he'll never admit that any of this is even partially his fault. It's like he'd rather see his son broken and disappointed than admit he might've been wrong. Such stubbornness has always been one of his failings, but it's never cost him so much as right now.

"Oh, get over yourself, Isshin!" Kisuke snaps. His hands fist at his sides as he forces himself not to hit a man he's been friends with for decades, if not centuries. "It's both of us. We both hurt Ichigo, and we're both to blame! Grow up and get over it!"

He sucks in a breath, air strangely thick in the tense atmosphere. And frankly, he's surprised no one's come to investigate.

"It doesn't matter if you hate me or blame or think this is all my fault," Kisuke continues, his heart thudding angrily in his chest, reiatsu coiling around him like a restless serpent. "Ichigo is the one who's suffering. That's all that should matter to you!"

Isshin draws up short, head cocked to the side. He takes in a deep breath, and by the time he's finished, an odd light enters his eyes. One that Kisuke isn't sure he's seen before. Not quite like the day Ichigo was born but damn close to it. Like he can't believe this is happening and doesn't have a clue what to do.

"Tell me about Yoruichi," he says suddenly. So fucking unexpectedly.

Kisuke can't believe his ears. "Isshin, for all the-"

"I'm serious this time." There's a strange note to his voice, something hushed and disbelieving. "Tell me about Yoruichi."

Despite himself, Kisuke forces his fingers to unclench. "What do you want me to say?" He turns away to rub trembling fingers over his aching forehead. "She's in Soul Society. I'm here. And if she came up to me today, saying she's been in love with me the whole time, it wouldn't mean a damn thing to me."

Isshin stares at him. "You're thing with Ichigo is all but destroyed with little chance of reconciliation, and you'd still tell her to hit the road?"

Feeling tired beyond mortal means, Kisuke forces a glare Isshin's direction. "People change, Isshin. It happens all the fucking time. Except I'm the stupid one who didn't change when it actually mattered."

Isshin shakes his head, turning to pace the room, looking like he has trouble processing this information. Not that it's surprising. Kisuke has lusted and mooned after Yoruichi for longer than even he can remember. Isshin knows that; he's witnessed it firsthand.

"You'd choose to be alone rather than accept something you've always wanted?"

"No longer want," Kisuke corrects. "And yes. Why is that so difficult to understand? When we were kids, you thought Hikifune was the center of your universe. That certainly isn't true anymore, is it? So why can't my heart shift, too?"

Isshin just looks at him, all hostility gone. There's an intensity to his gaze that makes the blond uncomfortable.

"Are you… are you in love with my son?"

His mouth goes dry. "It sounds so juvenile when you say it like that."

"Just answer the question."

"It doesn't matter." Kisuke shakes his head, gaze shifting up to the pale ceiling and watching the fan turn lazily. "I hurt him, Isshin. You're not supposed to do that to the people you love."

It's all but an admission, and it's all that Isshin's going to get. If there's anyone who deserves that confession first, it's Ichigo. Not his father.

He supposes in the long run that Isshin's right. Kisuke's no good for Ichigo. He deserves someone better, someone not Kisuke. Isshin's right; Shinji's right. And Aizen's standing in his corner, gloating with his own victory, content to use Ichigo to the very end.

Isshin sighs Kisuke looks, he sees the other man rubbing his forehead.

"It's the ones we love who we hurt the most," he mutters, sounding just as defeated. "My son already hates me. I don't need to destroy a century-old friendship as well."

"Ichigo doesn't hate you," Kisuke corrects and feels his shoulders sag with tangible relief. "He's angry and hurt and lashing out, and you have to admit, you were making a very good target of yourself."

"Well, I wasn't the only one," Isshin inserts with a snort. "He's pretty pissed at both of us." He lowers his hand, releasing another sigh. "Masaki wouldn't be happy with me either. She could hold a grudge like no one else. Ichigo's a lot like her."

A small smile cares curl Kisuke's lips. "He always has been," the shopkeeper says, thinking of the Kurosaki matriarch fondly. Masaki had been the glue that held their family together.

"And just like Masaki, Ichigo is forgiving," Isshin adds.

He closes the distance between them then. But Isshin hesitates a fraction of a second, one in which Kisuke almost thinks he's about to be sucker punched, before clapping a companionable hand on his shoulder instead.

"I won't say that I'm rooting for you. I still don't approve of you trying to date my son." Isshin punctuates his words with a pointed squeeze that makes Kisuke's bones creak. "But if you can at least salvage your friendship with him, I'll approve of that."

Kisuke doesn't return the manly affection but doesn't flinch either. He simply waits for Isshin's hand to slide away of its own accord before he speaks. He could say something nasty, but he doesn't want to prolong the tension. There's been enough of it in the warehouse already.

"If that's the best I can get, I'll live with it," Kisuke says, the brittle smile that touches his lips ready to be broken. "I've no intentions of abandoning him, however. So long as he'll have me."

Isshin snorts and turns away, tugging distractedly at the remains of his haori slung over his shoulder. "I'd expect nothing less."

It isn't much, but it's a start Kisuke supposes. It's better than fighting with both his lover and friend all at the same time. It's better than Isshin hating him and making things even more difficult than they ought to be. Kisuke's still sore about Isshin showing up at the worst possible moment, but he supposes he can't blame him for having bad timing. He's been notorious about that his entire life.

Isshin departs a few moments later, muttering something about finding Shinji and asking some questions. Kisuke lets him go with no small amount of relief.

"Nice to see you two finally getting along."

Kisuke whirls to face the doorway, surprise clawing into his throat.

"Ichigo."

He's leaning against the jamb, arms crossed defensively over his chest. He looks tired, like he's not sleeping well again. Dark circles line his eyes, and Kisuke feels a stab of guilt, knowing he's the cause of part of it.

The blond takes a step toward the door. "You-"

Ichigo shakes his head, stepping into the room. "I just got here if that's what you were going to ask," he says and edges around Kisuke, as though trying to examine him from all angles. "I see that you and Goat-Face are friends again."

Feeling off balance, Kisuke nods and tries to keep his eyes on Ichigo. There are a lot of things he should be saying, but he doesn't know how to voice them.

"Friends might be a stretch, but at least he's not attacking me anymore."

Ichigo makes a noise. "I'm surprised you got him to see reason."

Kisuke can barely hold back his sigh of relief. Ichigo really hadn't heard much of the conversation, thank goodness. There were things said that Kisuke would rather Ichigo hear directly rather than second-hand or by overhearing.

"Frankly, I am too. Your father's always been a stubborn goat."

Lips twitching, Ichigo pauses near the window. "I know," he says, and his head tilts as he glances at Kisuke pointedly.

The shopkeeper swallows and turns away, too much the coward to look Ichigo in the eye. "He's your father. He loves you. He's just an idiot who doesn't know how to show it sometimes."

"Yeah? And what's your excuse?"

Kisuke flinches. That one hurt, but Kisuke also knows he deserves it.

"I never claimed to have one," he says and falls quiet, unsure where to go from here.

All he knows is that there's a tight feeling in his chest, a rising nausea in his belly, and the silence between them _hurts_. It feels heavy and final, and Kisuke doesn't know what to say about it.

Shinji's words echo in the back of his mind like a chastisement. Kisuke knows what Ichigo wants from him; he doesn't know what he can give. Why is he hesitating? He's probably just the coward everyone thinks he is.

He turns to look, eyes searching Ichigo's expression, carefully guarded. And _damn_ but Kisuke hates that, hates seeing this man so closed to him.

"Ichigo… are we over?"

The question is hesitant, but Kisuke has to know. Is there anything left to salvage, or would it be like spitting on a burning building? Utterly pointless.

"Were we ever together in the first place?"

That feels like a blow to the midsection. If there is ever a time he regrets his inability to find the perfect words, it's now. Kisuke is speechless, unsure how to respond to that kind of statement.

Behind him, Ichigo exhales. "Things… _happened_. Did either one of us ever really sit down and decide on it? No. But-"

"That doesn't make it any less valid," Kisuke inserts and chews on his bottom lip, a nervous habit he thought he abandoned years ago. "It was more to me than just friends helping each other through a rough time."

"You lied to me," Ichigo says softly, but there's a hard edge to his words that makes Kisuke flinch out of shame. "No, you concealed the truth, which is the same thing. You had to have known what would happen when it came out, and you still wouldn't tell me."

Kisuke swallows again. "It wasn't my secret to tell."

"So you keep saying."

"Ichigo…"

The Vizard turns away from the window, a sharp movement toward the door, though he pauses halfway there.

"I don't know," Ichigo mutters. "I don't know what to say. Can you call something over that never had a beginning? How the hell am I supposed to figure that out?"

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Kisuke dares take a step forward. "You could ask yourself if you wanted it to have a beginning. You could ask yourself if you want it to end."

Ichigo works his jaw. His eyes are accusing, a hint of gold bleeding into the edges.

"Why is Isshin so convinced you're the worst possible choice in partner for me? What else don't I know?"

And Kisuke's throat closes on his words, his heart thumping in his chest, courage failing him.

' _He'll understand_ ,' he tries to tell himself.

But he doesn't know if he can believe it; Aizen's accusations ring in the back of his head. And as much as Kisuke would hate to accord Aizen with anything even close to justification, he has to admit at least this much: this is Kisuke's fault. He's the one to blame.

"I thought you might do that," Ichigo comments, voice heavy with his disappointment. He skirts around Kisuke to head for the door.

But the blond can't let him leave like that. Not with this bitterness between them.

"I just…" Kisuke stalls, trying to find the words. Relieved when Ichigo pauses long enough to hear them. "Time. Just a little more time and-"

"And what? How much longer do you think I'm going to stand around and wait for you to find your resolve?" Ichigo demands with hands forming fists at his sides. His reiatsu is an unsteady swirl around his body, reflecting his distress.

Kisuke recognizes his own words being thrown at him; how can he not. He swallows over a growing lump in his throat. Ichigo's right. It's not fair for Kisuke to ask this of him. He should be on his knees apologizing, not asking for more time. Kisuke knows this. Yet, he's still standing here, asking for more than he should.

"You're right," the ex-captain says, defeated. "I don't have the right to ask that of you."

"No, you don't." There's weariness in his tone. "Maybe I'll be in the mood to listen by the time you get your act together; maybe I won't. I guess that's the risk you want to take, huh?"

Ichigo leaves before Kisuke can respond, not that he has the words to say. Instead, he watches his lover go, explanations crowding at the back of his mind but refusing to form on his tongue.

_You want to know why Isshin was so worried? I used to be the biggest whore this side of Seireitei. Man or woman, it didn't matter. I just needed someone to fill the hole inside of me. I used people and threw them aside like garbage, but that's not even the worst of my sins._

_I was an assassin. You know that I was in the second division, but that's not the extent of it. Seireitei is nothing but politics and deceit, backstabbing and upheaval. My hands were tools for the Onmitsukidoh, and I did what I was told. I killed, I tortured, I arrested people who hadn't done anything wrong because they_ _**could** _ _have been dangerous somewhere down the line._

_And still, that's not even the worst of it._

_Do you ever wonder how Aizen knew about the Hougyoku, where it came from? Do you think that he's the one who came up with it? You'd be wrong. It was my idea, my creation, my research._

_I may not have made the monster, but I created the thing that gave him power._

Kisuke closes his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. And Ichigo wonders why he can't just tell him the truth. Tell him that the Kisuke he knows now is all but a lie compared to the one of the past.

He has to tell Ichigo the truth; Kisuke knows this. Ichigo deserves to know. It's not like Kisuke has anything left to lose. If Ichigo hates him in the end, at least Kisuke can be comforted with the knowledge that he's told the truth. It's what he deserves anyway.

Right?


	31. Interlude Six: Welcome to the Universe

Death comes unbidden. A sweeping rush of Senbonzakura, and then, he's falling. The pink petals are beautiful at least. His death is a glorious spectacle.

Gin's only regret is that Aizen-taichou has to see. That he's leaving his captain to fight on alone. That he promised to be there until the very end, and it's the one promise – the most important – that he'll ever break. At least to this man. At least to Aizen-taichou.

Gin's broken plenty of others in the past. But never any to his captain before this moment. Just as Aizen-taichou has never broken any to him. Never lied to him. Never treated him as scum to be scraped off his sandal. Never looked at him with anything less than pride.

And maybe that's where all of this started. Aizen-taichou looked at him. _Saw_ him. And for once, Gin wasn't found wanting. He wasn't just a stray not worthy of time or attention. For once, he didn't have to be the fighter or the villain or the protector or the victim. For once, he could just be a boy. Strong but scared. Lost but no longer alone.

For just that, Gin would and did follow this man to his death. For all the rest, Gin would sell his soul, slay gods, and even challenge heaven itself without a second thought.

And it isn't about honor. Gin can hardly say he's an honorable man. That he hasn't knifed plenty of people in the back or the gut or any other convenient body part. That he hasn't done things that make even him take pause later on. That leave him sweating and shaking when he wakes and his heart races in the dark.

It isn't love either. Gin doesn't know love; he doesn't understand it. He knows how to manipulate it. How to use sex and smiles and lies when he was just a boy on the streets before he'd even met Ran.

And Ran herself used to tell him all the time. Used to curl up with him at night and tell him that he was the most important thing in the world. But Gin hadn't known what to do. What to say back. And he'd been glad when she'd gotten Shiro-kun to be her captain, when she'd had someone to love properly.

Izuru loved him, too. Trusted him. Needed him. But Gin isn't Aizen-taichou. He couldn't save a lost and lonely boy like he was saved. He could only do the best he could for Izuru, and in the end, that wasn't enough.

Even Unohana-san in her own quiet way. His fellow captains Jyuu-san and Shun-kun. The other lost souls in his division that he gathered from those who threw them away. All of them loved him. But Gin just couldn't return it; he didn't know how.

He didn't know how to be anything but what he was. And Aizen-taichou never asked for more than that. Never demanded that he not be himself. Never shoved him away or trampled on him when he wasn't good enough.

And Gin's spent a lot of time not being good enough. In Rukongai. In the Academy. In Seireitei proper. He's spent a lot of his life – all of it – with whisperings and snide looks following his every move.

The only place he never had that was Las Noches. And isn't it a sad and tragic thing that the world of Hollows was more his home than Soul Society ever was? That he felt more comfortable with the Espada and the Hollows and the monsters than with regular people?

Hollows though are easy to understand. The strong survive and the weak are food. They don't lie or cheat or steal. It's only when they start becoming human again that such things happen. It's only when intelligence lingers behind their eyes and the holes in their souls shrink that treachery and evil sinks in. It's only when they become like Shinigami.

And just like Shinigami, some are good, and some are bad. Stark's alright. He doesn't bother anyone and isn't bothered by them in return. Grimmjow is like a little kid who has to have his way and throws temper tantrums when he doesn't. Only a twinge more violent. Ulquiorra is the jealous guard dog that follows after Aizen-taichou with a watchful eye. And Nel, sweet Neliel, she's best of them all. She's everything the Shinigami should've been but never managed.

They're his friends. They're almost something like family. Like a sister and brothers.

Aizen-taichou, however, isn't his dad. He's not. First, he's Gin's lieutenant. Then, he's Gin's mentor. Later, he's his captain. But he isn't his dad.

But sometimes, when he was still a kid, when it's just the two of them, when he gives that special smile just for him, Gin wishes that he were. When there's a warm hand on his shoulder. When he teaches Gin a new kidoh or trick. When they share tea and stories. When fingers brush through his hair even as an adult to cup his head.

He doesn't know his own father. Never knew him when he was living that he can remember, and he wasn't fortunate enough to find one in Rukongai. He's been an orphan his entire life.

Aizen-taichou isn't his father. Has never been despite how much Gin might wish differently. He isn't.

But maybe he could've been. Maybe in another, better life, things would've been different. Maybe Gin wouldn't have been such a monster or a bastard or a coward. Maybe he could've been good enough.

But he wasn't. He isn't. And this is the end. He's dying. He's already dead. He's out of time.

"I'm sorry," he says then, but he doesn't have enough breath to do more than mouth the words. He can only lay there and feel his life slip away, and this is all he has left to give.

"I'm sorry."

For leaving Ran. For tricking Izuru. For hurting all the people he once called friend. For leaving them when he's needed the most. For Unohana-san and Jyuu-san and Shun-kun. For Nel and even Ulquiorra and Grimmjow and Stark.

But most of all, more than anything, he's sorry for never telling Aizen-taichou the truth.

o0o0o

Renji knows he isn't real. He's like a dream in a dream in a fucked up dream. Imagination wrapped up in imaginary and not fucking real at all.

It's like this weird story Rukia told him years ago 'bout a man who makes a puppet that wants to be a real boy. Never realizing that maybe he was one all along.

Only, Renji was once real, but now, he isn't, and he doesn't know if it's all in his head or somebody else's or what the hell is going on.

All he knows is that he's here. Wherever here is. And Renji's really suspicious that here might be heaven. Only, heaven looks like crap and Rukongai and the eleventh after Yachiru had her candy taken away that one time.

He expected happiness and rainbows and maybe sake fountains or some shit like that. What he got was doom and gloom and an empty throne that looks like nobody's been home for a long fucking time. But there are other people here. Some, he knows. Others, he doesn't. And all of them are waiting.

Waiting. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

But Renji isn't quite sure for what. Or more likely, for who.

He has his suspicions. But he Renji doesn't voice them in case he's wrong. And he really hopes he isn't. He's been wrong plenty of times before, but more than any other time, he wants to be right now. He _needs_ to be. For all of them.

And all he can do is wait. Wait and think.

Renji's dead though, and that gives perspective. That lets him think about his life and his death and realize a few things he could never admit before.

That he wasn't as strong in some place but stronger than he thought in others. That Soul Society was and is even more fucked up than he thought. That being dead really isn't all that bad.

Ichigo probably blames himself for that though. That's what he does best. Blame himself for shit he couldn't help.

But it was Renji's choice and Renji's fight, so butt the fuck out, Strawberry. He was the idiot who got himself killed. Who didn't train quite as hard as he shoulda. Who picked a fight he knew he couldn't win. Who kept goin' when he could've cut his losses and made a run for it.

But Renji's never run from a fight. Not in Rukongai when he was a punk ass kid and outnumbered by grown men. Not when he was in the academy fightin' Hollows to save his senpai. Not when he stood up to Kuchiki Byakuya and knew he was gonna die and Rukia was gonna die and there was nothing he could fuckin' do to stop it.

Not when it was him and Grimmjow. The Espada Ichigo had problems beating. And as hard as it is for Renji to admit and despite the fact that death makes things easier, Renji knows that Ichigo has always been stronger than him. Not just in reiatsu. But in life, too. In standing up for himself and his friends and what he believes.

He never faltered. Not like Renji has. Not like when he let Rukia go without a fucking fight. Not like when he fought Ichigo instead of standing up for her and saying what complete bullshit it all was. For not punching his captain in the face all those times he shoulda. And really, Kuchiki-taichou sure as fuck needed that wakeup call a long time ago. But Ichigo was the one to give it, and the fact that he stomped up and down on the man's pride along the way is a sweet, sweet revenge indeed.

Renji can't help but grin even as he remembers his captain's stupefied look for days to follow. He'd been too shell-shocked himself at the time to appreciate it, but it's a good memory. One of a surprising number that came to follow, which were also intermixed with a lot of bad ones.

War and death and blood on the sand. Kids dying and struggling to breathe and trying not to lose it all.

But again, death brings perspective. And Renji can face it all now without faltering. He can think and remember and not put his head in his hands and fight not to cry from the sheer weight of everything.

It helps that he isn't alone here either. She hasn't said her name, this strangely familiar woman who sometimes comes to sit beside him and studies the cloudy sky. She doesn't talk much, but she's nice, and the silence doesn't bother her. And if Renji's really honest and if he ever had a mom, he hopes she was like her.

That she had the same smile and the same laugh. But hopefully none of the sadness. None of the lost and vague gleam she gets when the clouds start to part but then stop.

But that's familiar, too. There's definitely something about her that's so damn familiar. He can't put his finger on it, but even as he watches her walk away, Renji knows that he should know her. That he's seen her somewhere before. That he should remember her name.

But he doesn't, and Ichimaru can't remember her either.

And yeah, fucking Ichimaru's here, too. But the bastard really isn't that bad now that they're both dead and don't care anymore that one of them was a captain and then a traitor. Conversation helps to pass the time. And it's easier to admit things to each other now that they don't have to worry about the consequences. So yeah, Renji told him about some of the illegal shit he pulled that woulda gotten him executed if Chamber 46 ever knew. And that he hated Kuchiki-taichou more for being a shitty brother than for taking Rukia away in the first place.

And Ichimaru told him about being a kid without even a gang in Rukongai and how Aizen was the first person to ever really take care of him. And yeah, Renji really thinks that he's just waiting for Aizen to show up here like a kid waitin' by the door for his dad to come home.

But that's not the point. The point is that they're waiting. That they're just like all the other people here. Strangers and familiar faces and all of them searching the sky and the ground and wondering when it'll finally be time.

It's hard to say how long he's been here. Been in this imaginary world where the dead aren't real but are somehow almost alive again. Been in something that should be heaven but isn't.

It could be hours. Days. Months. Even years. It could be seconds. Or maybe centuries. It's so hard to tell when everything's gloomy and nothing ever changes. When he doesn't get hungry or thirsty or even tired. When there's no food or even a sword to fight with. When even he and Ichimaru are fed up with trying to spar hand to hand and only sit beside each other in comfortable silence.

He doesn't know. Renji doesn't know anything. How he got here. How long it's been. How long it'll be.

He's just waiting. And waiting. And talking. And remembering.

Until he isn't. Until there's a sudden breeze that smells like pine trees that don't even grow here. Until the air turns crisp and clean and he takes a deep breath. Until Ichimaru suddenly stops talking and just stares upward.

Renji looks up at the clouds in their make-believe world, too. And he knows without knowing then that it's just about time.


	32. Forgiveness

The blast of tired, aggravated reiatsu is Sousuke's first sign that he's no longer alone in the vast space of the underground training area. The sound of muttering is his second, and as he rounds a huge outcropping of boulders, he spies Ichigo-kun in a less than pleasant mood. There's a storm brewing above the Vizard's head, and Sousuke wonders how long it will be before Zangetsu starts pummeling at the landscape.

He wonders who it was this time. Urahara with his uncanny ability to say all the wrong things? Or the elder Kurosaki with his foolish persistence that none of this is his fault in any way?

Sousuke supposes it doesn't matter who's responsible; Ichigo-kun's the one paying the price.

Swiping a hand through his sweaty hair – he'd been practicing some hand to hand maneuvers – Sousuke wonders if he should quietly make himself scarce or linger on the off-chance Ichigo-kun might prefer some noncontentious company. The younger man looks to be in some need of stress relief, and Sousuke expects Zangetsu to be drawn at any second, in which case Sousuke doesn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

However, to his surprise, Ichigo-kun lays his blade aside, rolling his shoulders as though desiring to ease the burden of the zanpakutou's weight. His expression is serious. Brow furrowed tight, lips pressed to a thin line, eyes sharp and focused. Sousuke has but a heartbeat to wonder just what Ichigo-kun is up to before the Vizard's arm suddenly lifts and he whirls, aiming a violent blast of kidoh at the nearest cliff face.

Sousuke's jaw nearly drops at the impressive display of sheer power as the bright lightning strikes the rock and makes it splinter, spraying the ground in bits of stone. Ichigo-kun definitely has the power and the technique, some of which is pretty familiar. Sousuke remembers learning the very same tricks from his uncle.

Ichigo-kun mutters under his breath, something Sousuke can't make out due to the distance and the rumbling of the rocks. The Vizard's brow furrows. He takes aim again.

For his safety, Sousuke decides it's best to reveal himself now, rather than have Ichigo-kun think him rude for standing by and watching. He steps into full view, clearing his throat to announce himself and having the unintended consequence of startling his companion.

Ichigo-kun's spell goes wide, careening off toward the blue, fake sky. It explodes a fair distance away, leaving behind a shower of sparks not unlike a fireworks display. He whirls toward the former captain as though ready to fly with violence. Until recognition dawns and his pressure of his reiatsu fades away in an instant. He really had made leaps and bounds of improvement in mastering his control.

"I apologize," Sousuke says, waving away some of the dust that's rising in a cloud. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I didn't know anyone else was down here," Ichigo-kun mutters as though embarrassed and turns away. He focuses intently on the charred rock wall some forty yards away.

Sousuke nods in understanding. It probably doesn't help that he has no reiatsu to speak of, leaving nothing for Ichigo-kun to sense.

"I can leave if you'd like."

There's a pause, one where the brunet is certain Ichigo-kun is probably thinking of a polite way to agree and tell Sousuke to get lost. But just when he shifts toward the long ladder, Ichigo-kun shakes his head. He lifts his hands from where they are clenched at his side.

"No, you can stay," he says instead and takes in a deep breath.

There's a moment, a swell of reiatsu. And then " _Raikohou!"_ splits the air with a sharp crack of power and focus. It slams into the rock face and explodes outward with a bright concussive blast. If Sousuke hadn't been prepared, it would've knocked him from his feet. As it is, he has to shield his eyes from the wind that whips at him laced with fragmented bits of rock.

He lifts his brows. "Impressive," Sousuke comments.

And it is a rare treat indeed to witness Ichigo-kun in action. He knows that the Vizard is highly skilled in both physical combat and with his sword, but he's never had opportunity to pay any attention to Ichigo-kun's kidoh abilities.

The other man glances over his shoulder, noticeably grimacing. "It could be better," he retorts and gestures vaguely toward the charred stone. "It's supposed to be stronger."

Well, it is, but Sousuke hadn't wanted to say that.

"Perhaps," Sousuke allows and takes a slow breath, hoping that he isn't crossing some invisible boundary line. "You rely too much on your reiatsu to direct the spell. You need to force more _will_ into your incantations."

Not that Sousuke has heard Ichigo-kun _use_ much of an incantation.

Ichigo-kun though is thoughtful. "No one's ever explained it like that before," he muses aloud like understanding has just dawned. "That makes perfect sense."

He cracks a small grin. Something that is light years away from the dour expression he had on his initial arrival, and that shoots a lance of heat straight through Sousuke's innards.

Ichigo-kun really should smile more often, Sousuke realizes, and then surprises himself with that casual thought. He has always understood on a clinical level that Ichigo-kun is an attractive man, but for some reason, he is noticing Ichigo's true appeal now. The boy has grown into a man since the war and what he has become is quite fascinating.

"You also might want to consider using the incantations," Sousuke adds, wondering how much help Ichigo-kun will allow before telling him to leave.

Ichigo-kun scowls, but it seems more humorous than annoyed.

"Who has the patience to memorize those long phrases?"

Sousuke's lips twitch. "Someone who wants to perfect his kidoh skills perhaps?"

"Maybe I just wanna blow off some steam. Maybe I don't care about my technique," Ichigo-kun counters, and Sousuke can't tell if there's honest challenge in his words or if he's goading Sousuke for another reason altogether.

Funny how Sousuke, who prides himself on reading and understanding people in general, still finds himself baffled.

He takes off his glasses to clean off the dust that has accumulated before returning them to their proper place. "Now, if that were true, you wouldn't have considered my advice in the first place."

"Maybe." Ichigo-kun is grinning now, a sly sort of smile that chases away a few of the shadows from his eyes. "What other advice do you have to give, Mr. Middle School Teacher?"

Ichigo-kun is teasing him of all things. As though they are dear friends rather than allies borne by an uneasy truce.

Sousuke is nearly shocked. He swallows and then has to clear his throat over a sudden lump.

"I don't know," he says carefully, daring to move closer. "Which ones cause you the most trouble?"

Ichigo scratches a hand over his chin. "Depends on what you mean by trouble." He shrugs. "I can tell you one thing. I completely suck at bakudoh."

"Your zanpakutou and innate talent seem to be focused on offense," Sousuke muses aloud. "That makes sense." He pauses, looking around them pointedly. "Unfortunately, we have no convenient target to practice such kidoh on down here."

Lifting his arms over his head, Ichigo-kun stretches casually, but the movement causes his form-fitting shirt to rise up his abdomen. Sousuke tells himself he's not watching, even as he mentally notes the well-defined musculature.

By the gods, what is the matter with him? He hasn't been so poorly focused since the days his bastard of a father still lived.

"Oh, I could think of a couple," Ichigo comments, and there's a dark note to his voice, one that speaks of the frustration that has driven him there in the first place. "It wouldn't take much to lure either of them here."

Sousuke's lips twitch again. "Indeed," he says, not needing further elaboration. "They might even consider it a penance."

The Vizard shoots him an odd look. Like Sousuke's suddenly become a curious specimen that needs analyzing.

Then, Ichigo-kun shakes his head. "Right. But since they _aren't_ here, I'll have to try something else."

Recognizing an immediate change in topic, Sousuke wisely reverts back to their original conversation. "How are your skills with _Tenran_?"

Ichigo-kun makes a face that on anyone else would've been immature and amusing.

"Dismal," he admits with a sigh.

Sousuke suspects this has something to do with control. He inclines his head.

"Show me."

"I don't remember the incantation," Ichigo-kun mutters, though it sounds more like an excuse.

The ex-captain arches one brow in disbelief.

"And Zangetsu doesn't like it," Ichigo-kun adds, reaching back to pat the hilt of his zanpakutou in explanation.

Sousuke feels his lips twitch a third time in so many minutes.

"One does not necessarily need to use his zanpakutou to effectively control the spell," he explains. "Your second hand is also a suitable catalyst."

Ichigo-kun suddenly looks embarrassed. He rubs the back of his head with his hand.

"It's harder to control that way."

"Perhaps if you tried the incantation...?" Sousuke begins.

The sudden bluster of annoyed breath that Ichigo-kun releases is so juvenile that he feels the urge to chuckle coming again.

"You're seriously trying to encourage those incantations, aren't you?" the Vizard half-accuses.

Sousuke barely represses a sigh. "I suspect that someone had taught you shortcuts. Which though useful in a pinch will only inhibit you in the long run."

And he can guess just who gave him those as well. Urahara seems like such the type to cut out hard work whenever possible.

A chuckle bursts through Sousuke's thoughts, and he casts a surprised look Ichigo-kun's direction.

"You really are a teacher," his companion says, and he honestly sounds surprised.

Sousuke can't tell if he should be offended or not. Instead, he settles for a question.

"You didn't believe me?"

Ichigo-kun shakes his head. His eyes flicker off to focus on the massive boulder outcropping that he was using for a target.

"It was just hard to imagine." He rolls his shoulders, flexing his fingers. "You know, I actually wanted to be a teacher."

Sousuke blinks, but he can't quite help his curiosity. A teacher? Well, now… it's that interesting?

"Oh?" he poses

Ichigo-kun's brow wrinkles, and his reiatsu shifts and swells around him like the tide of an ocean Just strong enough to be uncomfortable but not harmful to Sousuke.

"Yeah," he replies softly. "Not middle school like you. But younger. Grade school."

Reiatsu flexes and pulses at Ichigo-kun's fingers, and he breathes in calmly. On his exhale, he casts. The spell spills smoothly from his hand and splits the air as seamless as the sharpest zanpakutou. There's a flash of blue fire as _Soren Soukatsui_ streaks toward the cliff face, vaporizing stone on impact and sending the remnants flying in a hundred different directions.

Sousuke has to shield himself from the debris. But his mind is whirling just as haphazardly. He's torn between marveling at Ichigo-kun's skill and contemplating his words. He watches the triumph pour into Ichigo-kun's features before his curiosity overcomes him.

"Why didn't you?"

Ichigo-kun shrugs. "I'm not suited for it, I guess."

Sousuke's not convinced that's the truth; there's something else, something in his tone that speaks of a different story. Ichigo-kun may seem to be all brash and bluster, but he has a unique ability to adapt himself to a situation properly. Sousuke thinks he would make a great teacher. That he would be excellent at anything he set his mind to or wanted to become.

No, perhaps Ichigo-kun's reasoning is something a bit more like the war. That sort of thing can have an effect on someone, leaving behind what many consider a stain. Maybe Ichigo-kun doesn't think someone like him should teach the young, considering his past actions. It could also explain his shift into the medical field – a position of healing and not harm. Like an odd form of penance.

"There is another spell you should try next," Sousuke suggests.

He gives the name of a notoriously difficult spell instead of following their previous conversation. He doesn't think his opinion on just what Ichigo-kun is suited for will matter to the Vizard at all. Sousuke's just the unwelcome guest.

Ichigo-kun snorts. "Are you kidding?" he asks, turning back toward Sousuke with that haunted look again in his eyes. "I'm still having trouble controlling that last one, and you want me to try something that strong? No thank you."

' _He underestimates his own abilities_ ,' Sousuke realizes then, and it's such a strange thing really.

Though not knowing Ichigo-kun particularly well, he has always understood the Vizard to be supremely confident. He's certainly never thought twice about leaping into a battle with seemingly insurmountable odds. But now... not so much.

Sousuke supposes they have the war to thank for that as well.

"How about _Soren Soukatsui_ again?" the brunet tries instead. "This time _with_ the incantation."

Ichigo-kun grimaces as though the mere effort of saying that is a nuisance to him. Odd. Gin never much liked saying the incantations either; he thought them ridiculous and convoluted and cheated at every opportunity to get out of it. How strange that Sousuke should be given the opportunity to teach two young men with the same opinion.

"You won't give up until I use one, will you?" Ichigo-kun questions, but there's a touch of humor in his voice.

"I consider it my civic duty," Sousuke quips.

It occurs to him that they are here, having a casual conversation, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. There's no tension, no underlying current of hostility. Like they are nothing more than two friends without a bitter past between them. Like there's a certain measure of trust, and Sousuke nearly reels at the sudden realization. Ichigo-kun is treating him like an ally, a friend. Why else would he allow Sousuke to speak with him like this? Allow him to offer pointers and tips, allow him to stand so close when he could be possibly considered vulnerable?

Sousuke's mouth goes dry with comprehension, and Ichigo-kun turns to look at him. His forehead wrinkles in confusion at his companion's sudden silence. Sousuke is glad he cannot see his face, certain the look there must be close to dumbstruck.

"Aizen?"

He swallows and formulates his words carefully. With trust comes other things, other understandings. Ichigo-kun would never be this open with someone he still hated. Someone he still blamed for a bloody war and the deaths of his friends.

Sousuke looks at Ichigo – how can he not? – and the question burns on his tongue. All but begging to be spoken.

"Have you forgiven me, Ichigo?" he asks and doesn't fail to notice he's left off an honorific of any kind.

If Ichigo notices, he doesn't make an objection. His expression shifts from confused to contemplative but not annoyed. Though Sousuke is no closer to reading Ichigo's every expression than he has been from the moment he first asked for help.

"Urahara seems to think so," Sousuke adds quietly, wondering why he needs to know this.

It won't fix anything; it won't absolve him. Sousuke doesn't need forgiveness from anyone.

Except... maybe he does.

Ichigo finally shakes his head as though stirring from an odd stupor. "I'm not going to kill you or let anyone else do it, but I don't know if I forgive you," he finally admits and lifts his gaze, now focused on Sousuke alone. "I don't know if there's something I have to forgive."

What an odd statement to make. Sousuke's brow crinkles in an effort to decipher it's meaning, but he draws a blank.

"I… I'm not certain I understand."

Sighing, Ichigo shakes his head again. "Your attacks were never aimed at me personally. At best, I can hate you on the behalf of other people."

Sousuke blinks. He's stunned. Once again, Ichigo has surprised him with his insight and moral character. Sousuke wonders if he'll ever cease being astounded.

"That's... unexpectedly reasonable."

Ichigo snorts, fingers curling into tight fists. "What else do you expect me to be?" he demands, reiatsu a sharp pulse through the air that'd be enough to take Sousuke's breath away if it were aimed at him. "Bitter and homicidal like Kisuke? Abnormally cheerful like Shinji? It's obviously not done either of them any good."

There's something else here, something deeper that speaks of more than just their current conversation. Something that's been eating away at Ichigo for a long time, and Sousuke considers his words very carefully.

"I don't expect you to be anything," he responds quietly, hoping to calm the sheer vehemence in Ichigo's voice. "You've enough on your shoulders as it is."

Ichigo laughs, but it's bitter. It displays nothing of humor.

"I would've never been in this position if not for you."

It's not quite an accusation but close enough.

"Can you say that your life before I reappeared was what you wanted?" Sousuke returns evenly.

"That's not the point," Ichigo retorts, rubbing a hand over his arm as though he's suddenly grown cold. "At least it was my life, _my_ choice."

Sousuke just looks at him. "Was it?"

Ichigo doesn't answer. Sousuke can see him working his jaw, as though biting back an inappropriate report.

It's not his right to ask. Sousuke knows this, but he feels like he's standing on the edge of something. That he's on the brink of obtaining something special. That it's within his grasp, and all he has to do is reach out and accept it.

"Is that what you want to go back to?"

Frustration darkens Ichigo's eyes to an earthy brown. "I'm tired of fighting, and it seems that's all I ever do," he confesses. He stares off into space as though directing his accusation at someone in particular. "It's all you and Kisuke want me to do."

Sousuke can't think of a proper rebuttal to that because Ichigo is right. Sousuke does want him to fight. He wants to see Ichigo seated on the throne. He can't think of anyone – save perhaps himself – who'd be better suited.

"Then why agree to my plan?" Sousuke asks, tucking his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what else to do with them. "I know it wasn't just to spite Urahara."

"Because that's the only way to make things right," Ichigo says sharply and looks at him, suddenly closer now, a bare foot away that Sousuke is acutely aware of. "To stop this kind of thing from happening again. If this is the only way to end the fighting, if all it takes is one last battle, then that's what I'll do. It's what I'm supposed to do."

Sousuke is taken aback. _What he's supposed to do?_ What have these Shinigami done to Ichigo-kun, to make him think he _has_ to be a hero? That it's his responsibility and his responsibility alone?

And for a moment, Sousuke is hit with a startling amount of guilt. This is as much his fault as it is Urahara's and all the rest. He's driven Ichigo to this corner. _He's_ the one that came to Ichigo, asking him for help and painting a target on his back.

Sousuke swallows over an unidentifiable lump in his throat.

"And what do you want to do?" he asks. "Not what you're supposed to do, but what you _want_ to do?"

Ichigo shifts his body until they are facing one another completely. "I don't know anymore." He gazes at Sousuke with eyes a deep and unfathomable color. "But maybe this is somewhere to start."

Before Sousuke can think to question or even begin to translate in the back of his mind, Ichigo closes the space between them. His hands come up, and Sousuke doesn't think to move out of the way or retaliate. He's too surprised to do more than stand and stare as hands cup his face and draw him in.

Ichigo's lips are warm and soft, firm as they press against Sousuke's mouth, and he smells of pine and metal. Sousuke is too stunned to react properly, and his brain misfires on all cylinders. But then, instinct takes over, and he kisses back, mouth opening. The hands that grasp Sousuke's face are warm and calloused, requesting and guiding but not demanding. Ichigo's lips are skilled but hesitant.

The kiss ends before Sousuke can fully appreciate the taste, and he finds himself looking into Ichigo's eyes. They swim with confusion that matches Sousuke's own. But he's startled by his own pressing desire to close the distance between them and have a longer taste. To memorize the feel of Ichigo's lips and run his hands through the wild strands of orangish hair.

"That… was a surprise," Sousuke says in a struggle to form coherent words and almost embarrassed at himself for how inarticulate he has suddenly become.

Ichigo blinks. Then, he flushes and abruptly drops his fingers from Sousuke's face. One hand runs through his hair almost violently.

"Fuck," he hisses, half-turning away as he stares at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Dammit. I shouldn't have done that. You don't… I shouldn't have done that." He looks up briefly, obviously troubled. "That was… I'm sorry."

And then, Ichigo is gone. He leaves behind a pulse of reiatsu that lingers long after he's gone and the taste of him on Sousuke's lips. The former overlord just watches him depart, a black flash against the seemingly endless roof of the training room

It occurs to Sousuke as he continues to stare long after Ichigo's gone that he never once resisted. Never once thought to shove him off. That he never stepped back and away. That had he more notice, he would've leaned in further.

Sousuke's not stupid by any means though. If anything, all this meant is that Ichigo is still furious with Urahara and has no other outlet for that anger. Sousuke is a convenient scapegoat. The means to an end. The person who just happened to be there.

He struggles to pretend that such a thought doesn't sting. Even as another emotion bubbles in his belly. One that is a bit too close to desire.

Damn Hirako Shinji. Damn him for being right. There's nothing more humiliating than that.

Sousuke can't help but laugh at the irony. And the fact that it isn't at all bitter should be his first warning about his mental stability.

"I saw that, Sou-chan."

A voice slithers out of the startled silence directly behind him then. Sousuke whirls around in an unbecoming manner and then curses at himself for showing his reaction too plainly. It's the sort of thing that Hirako would use as ammunition against him, were he not playing this odd game of acceptance and forgiveness. Sousuke still doesn't understand exactly what the man is after with that one.

Sousuke straightens and schools his face. "And how long have you been lurking down here?"

Hirako smirks. He's far too smug and amused for Sousuke's comfort.

"Long enough." He shrugs. "Things're certainly changin' 'round here, aren't they?"

Sousuke has no idea how he's supposed to respond to that. Does this mean Hirako's... happy for him?

He idly adjusts his clothing, unrolling his sleeves and trying to look well put together. "Kurosaki-kun is looking for an outlet to his anger. I happened to be convenient."

One blond brow arches in a manner that Sousuke has only ever found aggravating. "Is that why ya sound so disappointed?" he asks slyly, hands clasped behind his back as he circles like a predatory cat. "Just don't let Isshin find out. Otherwise, Kisuke won't be the only one worryin' 'bout his safety."

Hirako has a point. Kurosaki the Elder does not need another reason to hate Sousuke, and without reiatsu or friends, he has no means to defend himself. Though... he wonders if perhaps he has a defender anyway. If perhaps Ichigo might step in himself.

The thought sends a flurry of odd warmth through his stomach.

"There's nothing for Isshin-san to discover," Sousuke corrects smoothly, slowly regaining his equilibrium. "It was one encounter, which hardly puts me on the level of Urahara's depravity."

"Is that so?" Hirako sounds on the edge of glee, as though any moment he's going to start cackling madly. "Well, that's a pity, Sou-chan. I never took ya fer a man who lived in denial."

Denial?

It takes all Sousuke has not to repeat Hirako on a splutter. Is it denial if someone is being rational?

Sousuke isn't an idiot. Urahara and Ichigo are fighting right now, yes. But there is still pain in Ichigo's eyes when he talks about the man or even thinks about him. Sousuke's not about to make that fool's same mistakes.

He steps away from Hirako with intentions of heading upstairs. Perhaps sneaking into a bath and finding a quiet place away from everyone else.

"I can't tell what it is that you want from me," Sousuke comments with almost a last minute addendum to the conversation. "By all rights, you should loathe me as much as Urahara. Instead, you've become my personal cheerleader. Why is that?"

"Maybe I've better things ta do than drown myself in bitterness," Hirako replies to his back. "It's certainly not doin' Kisuke any good, now is it?"

Sousuke doesn't _think_ Hirako is lying. Falsities have never been his former captain's style. But it still makes little sense. Yet, when has Hirako ever done that?

He glances over his shoulder. "You'd be happy then if I pursued the course that you glimpsed earlier?"

Hirako's eyes twinkle in a way that Sousuke has always found himself unable to interpret. "What? You mean that I haven't been obvious enough about it yet?"

Turning completely, Sousuke stares at the older man. "Just whose side are you on?" he demands and knows that if Urahara had been standing right there he would've asked the same thing.

The blond gives a laugh that echoes in the empty space around them.

"No one's," he shoots back mischievously. "Though if ya wanna get technical, then I'm on the side of whoever makes Ichigo happy. 'Cause if there's one kid who deserves a break, it's him."

"And you think I could help with that?" Sousuke questions in a skeptical voice.

Hirako shrugs. "Who knows? At this point, ya can't do any worse than anyone else. Not Jyuushiro or Kisuke or even Ichigo's own father."

He has a point. But that's hardly a ringing endorsement, and Sousuke says as much.

"What do ya expect?" Hirako returns with a momentary sharp edge to his words. "Ya used ta be the kid's enemy. Sure, Ichigo knows how ta forgive and forget, but this is a little different than friendship."

A little different? Understatement of the century.

Sousuke can't tell which surprises him more. That Hirako is encouraging him, all but shoving him in Ichigo's direction. Or that he's actually considering it. That his first instinct is not to back away slowly but pursue this seemingly impossible course.

Sousuke shakes his head. Some part of him hopes the small movement will return sanity and logic where Ichigo's actions had effectively knocked them loose.

"I think you are underestimating Kurosaki-kun's relationship with Urahara. As much as I loathe to admit it."

Hirako's stare burns between his shoulder blades as he starts to turn away,but Sousuke can't fathom why.

"Is that so? Well, I guess we'll have ta see, won't we?"

Sousuke stops, a question on his lips, but Hirako is gone in a whisper of shunpo, leaving him behind. He suspects that Hirako is no doubt amused with himself, proud of leading everyone around like some sort of master manipulator. Sousuke frowns, eyes narrowing.

Part of him longs to chase after Ichigo, to demand an explanation. Another part of him fears the rejection that will immediately follow.

And yet, a third part of him wonders why that should even be something to fear.


	33. Plans

What the hell was he thinking?

No, scratch that.

Ichigo knows exactly what he'd been thinking. He's just wondering when the hell he had decided to act on it. He was angry, at Kisuke, at his dad, at everyone. And there Aizen was. So damn understanding and patient and infuriatingly handsome and Ichigo stopped letting himself think or consider logical possibilities. He'd just gone with a random urge, running brashly headfirst into something yet again.

And he'd liked it.

That's perhaps the most confusing part of it all.

Ichigo wonders when he'd stopped thinking of Aizen as evil incarnate and started considering him something a little closer to human. Closer to _friend_.

More than that, he wonders what the hell he's going to do now. Things are going to be awkward, worse than awkward actually. He doesn't know what he wants.

A repeat performance? To pretend that it had never happened?

And by the gods, pray that Isshin never finds out; otherwise, there might very well be a murder in the hideout. He can't even begin to guess what Kisuke might do. Though Ichigo can safely assume that this isn't going to make his attempts at getting Kisuke and Aizen to be civil with each other any easier.

Ichigo sighs and rubs his fingers over his aching forehead. He sits slumped in his chair and stares dully at the far wall; the persistent tick-tick of the wall clock is an annoying cadence on the edge of his thoughts. He's tired; it's been another sleepless night. One rife with nightmares and visions of the past and things he thought he'd chased away, but obviously, that relief was only temporary.

Logically, he recognizes that Aizen is an attractive man. Logically, Ichigo knows that Aizen is intelligent, patient, and truthful – insofar as Ichigo has seen. Logically, it'd stand to reason that he might be attracted to Aizen.

Except for the tiny, inconvenient little truth that Aizen tried to take over Soul Society years ago, started a war that killed some of Ichigo's friends, and is even now trying to continue his previously-failed plot. This time with Ichigo's help.

Ichigo groans. By the gods, when has his life become so fucking complicated? Even more complicated than before when he was a half-human, half-Shinigami, half-Hollow creature fighting in an invisible spirit war while trying to juggle high school and family life? And is it a bad sign that he misses those days and thinks back on them fondly?

The truth of the matter is that he doesn't see Aizen as the ultimate villain anymore. He knows on a base level that Aizen's to blame for most of what ails him now. Just as he also knows that Seireitei isn't making things any better. He understands what Aizen's trying to accomplish; he gets the man's goals. He doesn't like his methods, granted, but Ichigo understands. Which means he's not as furious with Aizen as Kisuke or the Vizard. The latter of whom pretty much ignore his presence.

Still.

Where did he get off thinking it was a good idea to kiss Aizen fucking Sousuke?

Ichigo is pretty sure that he must have lost all his senses some time ago. That's the only thing that could possibly explain his current situation.

But a sudden knocking on his door forces Ichigo out of his endless cycle of thoughts. He scrubs fingers through his hair and looks up.

"Yeah?"

The door swings open without invitation. To be expected with Shinji lounging in the doorway, one hand still on the knob.

"Are ya comin' ta the meeting you called or what?" he asks, gaze sweeping over Ichigo critically.

Crap. Ichigo had completely forgotten about that.

He rises to his feet and hopes he doesn't look as tired as he feels. "I'm coming," he says, and works his way across the floor. He doesn't care for changing out of his wrinkled clothes; they'll have to get over it.

Shinji smirks. "You forgot, didn't ya?"

"I didn't forget," Ichigo returns defensively as he slides into the hallway, Shinji shutting the door behind them. "It just took the backburner compared to the other shit on my mind."

The blond arches a brow. "The exact means ya plan ta use ta storm Soul Society aren't as important as... What now? Were ya brooding over Kisuke again?"

What is it with the Vizard and being unable to stay out of someone else's business? Granted, Ichigo hasn't been able to keep much of his drama out of sight, and everyone's had first-hand witness to the bullshit that has attacked him lately. But really, do they have to make a point of forcing him to _talk_ about it?

"If that's your way of helping, it's not working," Ichigo replies.

He doesn't particularly want to discuss Kisuke right now. Or Isshin, for that matter. In fact, concentrating on invading Soul Society is looking to be the more appealing topic of discussion.

Shinji shoves his hands into his pockets. His critical eyes rake Ichigo from head to toe.

"Yanno, why don't ya let me give ya some advice?"

"Do I have a choice?"

And yes, it is a bit rude and snappish of him, but honestly, part of Ichigo doesn't care anymore. He's tired; he's sleeping alone in a cold bed because his sort-of lover can't be bothered to tell the truth and his former enemy has suddenly become the honest one.

Shinji nudges him with an elbow. "No, you don't."

Ichigo can't tell if he's serious or teasing. Either way, Shinji draws to a halt and encourages him to do the same.

"I'm a hell of a lot older than ya, Ichigo. So I think I know what I'm talking about."

Ichigo arches a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. "What's your advice?"

"Either let Kisuke go or cut him a break. 'Cause it's not doing either of ya any good ta linger like this," Shinji says, and of course, he would go there just when Ichigo's trying not to think about these things. "Also, how 'bout a thumbs up for surprising Sousuke? I don't think I've seen him that speechless in quite some time."

Ichigo's mouth opens and then clamps immediately shut. He feels a heat steal into his cheeks that he can't fight.

Shinji saw? Well, of course, Shinji saw. The Vizard are into everyone's business, and they're worse ninjas than the Onmitsukidoh. Frankly, Ichigo wouldn't be surprised if Lisa flounced up to him with video footage.

"I don't think either of those statements are any of your business," Ichigo grumbles, looking away. He tries to sound stubborn and unyielding, but all he manages is an embarrassed mumble.

Shinji's arm slings across his shoulders. "Yer right. It normally wouldn't be. But since the tension between ya, yer suitors, and yer father's making the atmosphere in my happy home covered by dark rain clouds, it's become my business."

Suitors? As in plural.

Damn it but Shinji's probably right, since Ichigo had kissed Aizen and hadn't suffered a fist to the face in response. Then again, Aizen could've possibly been either too startled or unwilling to anger Ichigo and lose his help.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Ichigo questions. And frankly, if anyone can tell him how to solve all of this with the least amount of collateral damage, he's all ears.

"Fix it," Shinji replies firmly, and something amused dances in his eyes. "Let Kisuke bow and scrape back into yer graces. Or pursue something with Aizen and completely cut Kisuke off. Hell, fuck 'em both. Maybe even at the same time." He makes a waving gesture with his hand. "I really don't care. Just fix it."

Ichigo chokes. He's unsure whether he should respond by cursing Shinji to hell or a more violent physical approach.

"Y-you!" At a loss for words, all Ichigo can do is sputter and wallow somewhere between humiliation and fury. "Whose side are you on anyway?"

Shinji gives him a commiserating pat on the shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. Then, he strides down the hall with a whistle on his lips.

"Why does everyone keep askin' me that?" the blond wonders aloud and tosses a look over his shoulder. "Are ya coming ta this meetin' or not?"

Ichigo shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts back in order and away from Shinji's idea of advice.

"I'm coming," he answers and falls into step behind Shinji with something like a scowl.

The only room in the entire warehouse capable of holding and seating their entire group comfortably is the dining room. Ichigo twitches, remembering what happened the last time everyone gathered for a full meal. He'd learned more than a few things he hadn't cared to know and had been embarrassed beyond belief in the process. Since then, Ichigo had avoided "family" dinners, and he knows he isn't the only one.

Ichigo is the last to arrive, which makes him wonder if Shinji had been sent to fetch him. He takes his seat at the head of the table, across from Shinji at the other end and between Nel and Aizen. Sometimes, Ichigo suspects that Shinji plans the seating arrangements. Especially since he's put himself between Kisuke and Isshin, who are on the opposite end and far, far from Ichigo.

"Nice of you to join us," Lisa drawls as she leans forward. "We were beginning to think you'd changed your mind."

Ichigo pointedly does not look at Aizen. Even if it makes him feel like a juvenile for doing so.

"No, I was thinking about other things."

He also wisely doesn't look at Kisuke either.

Kisuke. Yes, another person that makes him go "why the hell did I kiss Aizen?" He still doesn't know how to answer Kisuke's questions either. Did they break up? Were they ever together? Ichigo's not ready to toss aside what they shared, but the truth of the matter remains. He wants answers, and if Kisuke won't give them, Ichigo doesn't know if he can keep going. He doesn't know what else Kisuke might conceal from him.

"Well, Ichigo," Shinji says loudly, distracting everyone from the Menos Grande in the corner of the room that Ichigo refuses to discuss. "Why don't we get his meeting started? It's time ta go ta war."

"Or something like that," Ichigo cuts in.

Though he has to admit, Shinji's right. He is more or less declaring war on Soul Society here, the same thing he had done years ago when he decided he was going to save Rukia no matter who or what got in his way. Except as a teenager, he hadn't understood the enormity of such an undertaking.

He understands that now.

That of course is when everyone looks at him. As though he's the leader, and Ichigo comes to the startling realization that he actually _is_. That no one's going to listen to Aizen, and Kisuke has never approved of this course of action anyway, and Shinji's just going to follow whatever Ichigo says. The ball is in his court, and Ichigo's going to have to stand up and decide where it's going next.

He swallows thickly; he has no idea where to start. But then, his eyes settle on Hachi, and Ichigo decides that the logistics are just as important as the invasion.

He shifts uneasily in his seat and asks, "How's that gate coming?"

"I can get us into Soul Society, probably without being detected if Urahara-san gives me a hand," Hachi replies, cheeks pinking a bit as all the attention swivels toward him. "But I'll need weeks more to figure out how to get past Urahara-san's exile." He turns apologetic eyes toward the shopkeeper. "I'm sorry."

Kisuke eyes flick toward Ichigo, but he manages a thin smile. "Completely understandable. I haven't the time or the means to create the necessary equipment either. Not without access to my own lab."

"So what's the plan?" Hiyori demands, leaning back in her chair and propping her foot on the edge of the table. "How are we going to do this? Who's going?"

To be honest, Ichigo's not put much thought into this. Last time, he hadn't actually planned. He'd just headed straight for Seireitei, thinking he was going to be on his own until his friends showed up at the last minute. He'd had an objective and the will to pursue it, but he hadn't had a plan. They had never been his forte.

"Our goals are to get into Soul Society, get the King's Key, get by the Royal Guard somehow, and take the throne," Ichigo says slowly, trying to work this out in his mind. "I suppose the first order of business is to get the key."

His gaze swivels toward Aizen because he's the one who promised that. Something inside Ichigo does a little anxious and embarrassed flip, but nothing in Aizen's expression even hints to what had passed between them just yesterday. If he's bothered by Ichigo's actions, Aizen doesn't show it. Ichigo envies him for that composure. Mostly because he can't stop thinking about wanting to kiss Aizen again, and it's driving him crazy.

"You don't just need the key," Aizen explains, his hands lying flat against the table. "You also need to know the path to the dimension gate."

"Dimension gate?" Love repeats, face drawn with confusion. "I thought the key could open the gate anywhere."

Aizen inclines his head. "A common misconception. One that Seireitei perpetuates in order to reduce attempts at usurping the throne. There is but one true gate, and it's hidden."

Rose looks skeptical. "And you know where it is?"

"I do. I researched," Aizen replies simply, the fingers of his right hand tapping out a faint rhythm against the tabletop. "Dusty, crumbling books hidden in the library that I doubt even Yamamoto remembered. You'd be surprised what information Soul Society believes it has successfully hidden." His gaze flickers Kisuke's direction briefly, and Ichigo wonders why.

Does it have to do with the things that Kisuke hasn't told him? Or maybe something related to why Aizen seems to loathe Kisuke so much in return? That last part is what has always confused Ichigo. He understands why Kisuke hates Aizen. But he can't figure out why Aizen seems to hold the same bitter loathing in return. It's not a matter of reciprocal hatred either; there's something there, some truth that Ichigo's yet to discover.

"So where is it?" Hiyori demands. Her foot wriggles against the table as she levels Aizen with a glare that makes even Ichigo shiver.

Aizen arches a brow, more amused than intimidated. "That is information I'll keep to myself, if you don't mind. It's all the leverage I have to ensure that I am not left behind." He pointedly does not look at Kisuke, but Ichigo knows the jab is that way nonetheless.

Luckily, Kisuke doesn't take the bait. He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes, but he doesn't start a verbal spar at the table.

Interesting.

"And the key?" Neliel asks, soft voice carrying easily through the room. "How are you getting it? You're not planning to try and create another one, are you?"

Aizen shakes his head. "I have to need to create one since I have a means to acquire the original key."

"How?" Kisuke asks, somehow managing to not sound belligerent or inflammatory. There's nothing but pure curiosity in his voice. Perhaps he's learning after all.

A stab of nostalgia seeps into Ichigo's being as he looks at his lover – former lover? He does miss Kisuke; that's one truth Ichigo can't deny. Before they were lovers, they were friends. And before that, teacher and student. There's a connection Ichigo is unwilling to abandon, one he can't lose so easily.

Aizen meets his gaze evenly. Though the tension simmers between them like a heat mirage, it doesn't emerge verbally.

"Someone is going to give it to me." His fingers still. "And no, I won't tell you who."

Hiyori's eyes narrow. She's perhaps the only person at the table who hates Aizen as much as Kisuke. Ichigo isn't quite sure why. But then, Hiyori seems to either dislike or hate most people. She's even threatened Inoue in the past, and Inoue is about as scary and intimidating as melted marshmallows.

"Why not?" Hiyori all but snarls then.

"Because I already owe this person a great debt," Aizen responds evenly, and Ichigo already has his suspicions just who's going to help him. "And no one needs to know their name. Just in case."

Love's forehead wrinkles. "In case of what?"

"In case this whole plan fails, we lose, and everything falls to shit," Isshin inserts with a snort. He leans forward once he has everyone's attention. "I don't think any of you realize what we're up against. Facing off against the Gotei 13 is one thing. Taking on the entirety of the Royal Guard is a completely different story."

Ichigo straightens and pins his father with an accusing stare. "And how would you know that?"

But it's Kisuke who answers.

"Because Isshin used to be one of them."

There's a moment of stunned silence where Isshin looks at Kisuke with nothing short of betrayed surprise. Ichigo just stares at his former lover with the same shock echoed in his expression.

What's this? An answer with an element of truth?

Kisuke straightens, something like resolve painted into his features. "If you're not going to tell them, then I will," he says with greater firmness this time. "They need to know what we face, and it's about time you offered a helping hand for once in your life."

Ichigo blinks. Last he remembers, Kisuke and Isshin had more or less settled their differences. But apparently, not all of the issues have been laid to rest. Or perhaps this is just Kisuke's way of proving he's not going to hide the answers anymore. Maybe he's just trying to encourage Isshin to do the same. Ichigo doesn't know; he can't even begin to guess Kisuke's motivations anymore. And he hates that. Hates that a part of him doesn't understand the man who had shared his bed for months and was his friend before that for so much longer.

Isshin, for his part, colors with something that could be equally shame as it is anger. His visible hand clenches into a fist, jaw firming, but he nods stiffly. His eyes are locked on Kisuke, but as he speaks, they gradually shift to his son.

"Yes, I was a member of the Royal Guard," he explains, tone oddly soft and not at all like the gruff accusations or the goofy idiocy that Ichigo has come to expect of his father. "And for those of you who don't know, the Royal Guard is composed almost entirely of former captains. At least two dozen by my last count, though there could be more or less since I left."

 _Former captains_. Meaning at least two dozen men and women with bankai who excel in kidoh and other Shinigami skills. It'll be like taking on every captain and every one of the Espada all at once. And throw in a Vasto Lorde or two just for good measure, just because life loves to make things difficult for Ichigo. It always has.

He takes in a slow breath, fingers clenching around the arm of his chair. Aizen had mentioned nothing of the difficulties they'd face, and Ichigo is wondering why he hasn't questioned it before. Why he hasn't realized how damn impossible it sounds.

"Have you considered the possibility that the Royal Guard is no longer an issue?" Aizen inserts mildly. He seems undisturbed by the reality of the situation. As though it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

Utter silence meets his declaration.

Aizen takes it upon himself to clarify, "Kurosaki-san, how long ago was it that you left Soul Society?"

A broad hand sweeps over Isshin's head, mouth twisting as he considers. "A century or so, give or take a decade," he answers, and his brow furrows.

That also is another question for which Ichigo hasn't received an answer. Why did his dad leave Soul Society? What _other_ secrets is Isshin hiding?

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lisa inserts, sitting back in her chair and toying with some item Ichigo can't identify. "And how'd you know if the Royal Guard is active or not?"

"Consider this," Aizen states, leaning forward and clasping his hands together in front of him. "Despite knowing that my aims were to take the King's Key and usurp the royal family, not a single member of the guard assisted Seireitei in standing against me."

Hachi shakes his head. "That doesn't prove anything. Perhaps they considered themselves a last line of defense. From the moment they surrendered the daily operations to Chamber 46, the royal family and the guard have been removed from Seireitei. It's the way things have to be."

Ichigo, for his part, is utterly lost. This is all stuff about Soul Society that he didn't know. How could he? He's not been a fully-fledged Shinigami, only ever considered a substitute. And after the war, he'd distanced himself from Seireitei. No one had ever taken the time to explain the political workings to him.

He holds up a hand. "Wait a minute. Has anyone even _seen_ the king before?"

Another moment of tense silence sweeps through the room. Even Isshin shifts uncomfortably, shaking his head.

"No," he puts in slowly and chews on his bottom lip. "He must exist because the balance is still being maintained, but not even I've seen him. Only one person in the Royal Guard has, and that was the captain."

"Was?" Rose repeats.

Isshin shrugs. "It's been decades." His eyes flicker to Aizen with barely disguised contempt. "Aizen might be right. For all I know, the Royal Guard's no longer an issue."

"We can't rely on that though," Shinji insists thoughtfully, the first he's had to say since this meeting began. He chews on his thumbnail. "We have ta be prepared."

"Prepared?" Hiyori nearly chokes on the word. "For half a dozen of us to take on captain-level opponents and a bunch of unknowns. That's suicide!"

"We could just back out." Love leans back, head tilted. "We could just sit here, hide in our warehouse, and believe that maybe in a couple more centuries, Soul Society will pull its head out of its proverbial ass and decide that Vizard aren't all that bad. It could happen."

But his words belie the bitterness in his voice.

It occurs to Ichigo in that moment that he hasn't asked why the Vizard had agreed to help him in this cockamamie scheme. Then again, he hasn't actually requested that they do so nor have they volunteered. He had just assumed, and because Shinji seems to agree with him, the others followed.

Kisuke snorts, his own bitterness for once not directed at Aizen. "And maybe, if we're lucky, they'll stop all the other corruption. Perhaps if we ask nicely, they'll even do it faster."

His statements earns a wave of mutters.

"We're not doing this alone," Shinji cuts in through the murmuring discontent. "We have allies in the Gotei 13. All Ichigo has to do is say the word, and they'll be there."

"Oh?" Aizen poses then. "Who?"

Shinji smiles, a slow slide of his lips that hints of challenge. "Well, that's just information I'll have ta keep ta myself fer now. For their own safety."

Well played.

Aizen tips his head, but his mouth almost curls into a smile of his own.

Ichigo clears his throat. "So… We've established that this is tantamount to suicide. Anyone want to back out?"

No one speaks. He doesn't expect them to. The Vizard are many things, but they aren't cowards. And the chance at a free life, one without cowering in the shadows and one that allows them to return to the place they consider home, isn't to be abandoned.

"Well, now, that's decided," Shinji says. "When do we go?"

Ichigo leans forward, arms braced on the table. "Within the week," he answers. "Whenever Soul Society is most vulnerable."

"Then you'll want the dawn shift change," Kisuke replies, gaze lowered as if in deep thought. "Night shift is the least likely staffed. The Gotei are just waking, and the late shifters are stumbling into bed. It's the most chaotic."

"An attack at dawn," Nel muses aloud, a small curve to her lips. "There's almost something poetic about it."

It sounds so simple except for the enormity of the task. Part of Ichigo is having a hard time believing that they're actually going to do this. Another part of him is relieved that something is finally being done, that he won't have to stay trapped in this warehouse – or hiding in general – any longer. It's fantastic to be doing _something_ again. Even if that something is damn near suicidal.

Shinji rises to his feet then. "So now that business it out of the way, mind if I make an announcement?"

There is a collective groan from the table. Even Ichigo is a bit wary of whatever Shinji might have to say.

Love grimaces. "If you feel you must."

"Good. 'Cause I was gonna say it anyway," Shinji retorts cheekily and gestures to Neliel sitting quietly at the other end of the table.

She stands then to walk to his side and clasp his hand. There's a definite grin on her face, and the look Shinji gives her is telling, even if Ichigo can't decide what it says. He just watches the blond give Nel's hand a squeeze.

"We're gettin' married," Shinji announces then. "And as soon as this whole plan succeeds. Yer all invited naturally. Just thought we'd share the happy news."

Not for the first time that afternoon does a silence sweep through the room. Ichigo, for his part, is stunned. He knows that the surprised look on his face is echoed by the others.

Lisa has to pick her mouth up from the floor. "How in the hell are you managing that?" she demands, voice thick with amusement as much as shock. "She can't even stay adult long enough for you to get it on!"

Shinji doesn't look the least bit embarrassed, which is alright because Ichigo is embarrassed enough for him. He knows that heat is staining his cheeks, and he suppresses a groan. _This..._ this right here is the reason he stridently avoids full gatherings of the Vizard. They have no shame, and they always speak their minds, Lisa especially.

Shinji shakes a finger at her, his grin stretching to epic proportions. "That's not a problem anymore," he says and leers openly at his girlfriend, fiancée, whatever they're calling each other.

Ichigo chokes on his next breath. He honestly didn't want to know, and judging by some of the other expressions around the table, he's not the only one.

A gaze settles warmly on Ichigo, and it's nearly dazzling.

"We'd like for you to be our best man," Neliel adds, a hopeful tilt to her lips that Ichigo knows he can't disappoint.

"Sure," he says, and really, he's too damned stunned to think about how random this is in the first place. A touch of cheer to go with what is likely to be a dismal future, perhaps?

Shinji's announcement, however, is what is needed to call the meeting to an end without Ichigo having to make some lame statement of his own. The Vizard are rising to their feet in scattered bursts, while Aizen has already made for a hasty exit. Kisuke lingers like he wants to try and talk, but Ichigo avoids his eyes. He doesn't know what he wants to say to him.

So that's it. Within the week, they'll be storming Soul Society and risking their lives for the smallest chance at victory.

Ichigo grimaces, rubbing at his chest, where the ache is starting to build. He doesn't know which is more unbelievable. That he tried to take on the entire might of Seireitei as a teenager. Or that he's trying to take on all of Soul Society plus the Royal Guard as an adult.

Frankly, he isn't sure that he's going to live to see the next month.

"Ichigo."

Isshin's voice, for once neither commanding nor reproachful, makes him pause in his tracks. The Vizard are filing out of the dining room – some congratulating Shinji and others wondering why he'd decided _now_ was the best time to inform everyone. Kisuke tosses them both a worried look, but Ichigo dismisses him, focusing intently on his father.

"What do you want?" he asks coolly because a half-sentence of answers is not enough to make up for years of lies. "If you want to yell or demand, just let me walk away now. Otherwise, hurry up."

"I'm sorry."

Ichigo turns completely because there's actual contrition in his father's voice. He's glad that everyone's filed out by now, leaving them alone and without witness to more of Ichigo's drama.

"For what?"

And if Goat-Face's apology isn't sincere, Ichigo won't hesitate to whip out Zangetsu and prove to his old man all the things Isshin hasn't cared to know.

Isshin works his jaw, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. It takes him a moment to meet Ichigo's gaze.

"I should have told you," he says then. "I can't even give you a good reason why, save for cowardice."

Ichigo fights to keep from sneering. "Yeah, well. I already knew that much. Was that all?"

He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice or the icy curl of betrayal and hurt that still lingers in his belly. His own hand forms a fist, but Ichigo doesn't even know if striking Isshin will help. It didn't earlier.

"I want to come with you. Into Soul Society."

Isshin's eyes are dark with something. Regret perhaps. Ichigo doesn't know. He hasn't seen his father this serious since that one time they were standing at Masaki's grave, right after Ichigo fought against Grand Fisher for the first time.

Ichigo's palm sits on his chest, fingers an idle massage over his collar. "Why now?"

"Because I should have done it years ago. Because I sat back while you almost died." Isshin pauses, taking a steady breath. "Because I owe it to you."

He stares at his father with nothing short of disbelief.

"That and more," Ichigo states, but it's a tired sort of response, one that echoes how weary he is of fighting and how he would just like for all the stress and tension to go away. "And my answers."

"You'll get them," Isshin replies with a hint of promise. "Just ask the questions."

Ichigo nods, half-turning away. The promise of answers is all he wants. His mind is spinning too much right now to even begin considering the questions. There are too many swirling around in his brain, and there are other things to focus on. Things like storming Soul Society and why he kissed Aizen and why he wants to do it again and why he can't stop thinking about that hurt look in Kisuke's eyes and why he misses the lying bastard so damn much.

"And Kisuke?"

He sees Isshin twitch from the corner of his eye. "If he's what you want, then I won't say anything. I'm not sure I have that right anymore."

"You're right. You don't." Ichigo somehow manages to keep his voice from sounding spiteful. He goes toward the door, feeling like some of the massive boulders sitting on his shoulders have crumbled to dust. "You can come with us."

If Isshin has anything to add, Ichigo doesn't hear it because he leaves the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. Only then, does he allow himself to breathe.

He rubs his forehead, where an ache is starting to build. He just wants to lie down and sleep, possibly until next year. Unfortunately, circumstances make that an impossibility. He has less than a week before they invade Soul Society, and Ichigo hasn't exactly spent the last few years training. He has too much to do to embrace the luxury of rest and relaxation.

Shaking his head, Ichigo heads for the underground training area. It's time for a conference with Zangetsu and Shirosaki.


	34. Confusion

_That night, Ichigo dreams of his mother. It's not a memory from the past, something that has grown more distant and unfocused as of late. But the dream itself is familiar._

_He's walking somewhere. The air is crisp and cool, the atmosphere dark but dimly lit by pale white globes; Ichigo doesn't know if it's electricity or something else. There's a subtle hum in the air, a buzzing sensation of reiatsu that licks over his skin. It's no one and nothing he can identify, but it's powerful. It drones in his ear and pulses to the same rhythm as his heart._

_He's standing at the top of a staircase. It winds down and down, the landing opening up to a pool of water so deep he can't see the bottom. Something twinkles in the water, like fishy fireflies. There's a path to something in the middle of the cave's lake, nothing more than stepping stones of rock leading out._

_Ichigo, dream!Ichigo anyway, doesn't hesitate. He crosses the water, easily stepping from one stone to the next. Until he stands on the center platform at the bottom of a small set of stairs. He climbs and finds himself on a dais, one lit by a corona of light above him. It's a soft light, white and clean, but when he looks up, he can't see where it's coming from._

_His mother is standing in the middle of the light, smiling at him, little more than a transparent outline. Yet, he can also see her so clearly, down to the brightness of her brown eyes and the wave of her hair. Her lips are curled into a familiar smile, her hand reaching toward him in open invitation._

" _Ichigo."_

_She's calling him._

_He knows it's a dream; he has nothing to fear. Ichigo goes to her, climbing the stairs without hesitation. The air smells of rain and flowers, and the hum of reiatsu goes stronger. It vibrates through the stone floor, echoes throughout Ichigo's very being._

_He lifts his hand – his fingers are trembling – as he reaches for her. Misaki's expression doesn't change. Her eyes grow brighter, filled with love. Her mouth opens, like she's going to speak, and Ichigo reaches for her hand._

_Their fingers brush._

Ichigo wakes, heart leaping into his throat. Not so much frightened as he is startled, thrust from a vibrant dream into the dull dark of his borrowed room. He is damp, body coated in sweat, and Ichigo throws the blanket back. His hand rubs the back of his neck as he closes his eyes; the mental images are still strong as they resonate in the back of his mind.

It felt so real. Too real. Almost as if Ichigo had actually been there, in that place, his mother waiting for him.

His chest throbs, and Ichigo's hand shifts to his sternum. Maybe _this_ is the cause of those dreams. Maybe it's the stress. Ichigo can't even begin to guess.

He glances at the clock. Five in the morning. He's been asleep for less than three hours. It'll be dawn soon. Ichigo doesn't think he'll be able to get back to sleep. Not with his blood rushing through his veins and his reiatsu vibrating around him like an eager soldier.

Ichigo scrapes a hand down his face and rises to his feet, searching around the room for a shirt to tug over his head. It gets chilly in the warehouse sometimes, and Ichigo doesn't want to wander around half-dressed. It might give Lisa ideas.

The hallway is darkened, lit only by a nightlight, and Ichigo heads for the kitchen. He doesn't have a real destination in mind, just a determination to not lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling. No one's awake, not even Aizen, which comes as a surprise to Ichigo. Was he hoping the man was awake?

Ichigo grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and chugs down half of it. The silence of the warehouse echoes around him. In the distance, there's the usual creaking of a building as it settles, and somewhere, a clock is ticking away the seconds. But otherwise, it's completely silent and still. It's stifling.

Ichigo can hear his heartbeat and every breath, and he doesn't like the way it echoes around him.

Bottle in hand, Ichigo abandons the kitchen and wanders down an equally silent corridor, heading for the sun room. Kisuke thinks going outside is still a bad idea, but Ichigo can't take any more of being cooped up within four walls, no matter how large the training room seems to be or how many more rooms there are in the warehouse. Besides, it's only the garden. If some Shinigami happens to spot Ichigo, well, maybe it's for the best. He's itching to do something.

He pushes open the sliding glass door and steps onto the engawa overlooking the garden. This early in the morning, it's an interesting contrast of moonbeams and shadows. There's the quiet trickle of a man made stream and the sharp but steady noise of a sozu. It's cooler outside, and there's a light breeze. But it tastes fresh on Ichigo's tongue, a lot like freedom, and he breathes in deep. Something about it calms the restless tremors inside of him.

Ichigo takes up a seat on the edge, letting his feet dangle over the dew-damp grass below him. He takes another long drink of the water, half-considering that he should have grabbed sake instead. It would've better matched his mood. He braces his elbows on his knees, lets his head hang, and tries not to think. But trying is not the same thing as doing, and the thoughts swirl around anyway.

Kisuke and Goat-Face and Aizen and Soul Society. Until it all becomes a tangled, conflicted mess in the pit of his belly. So snarled that even the water sits like thunderstorm in his stomach. It's times like these that he regrets – even if only briefly – ever allowing Rukia to transfer her powers to him. He's glad he protected his family; that is one thing he'll never regret.

But the rest? Damn, sometimes Ichigo thinks he could have done without the rest.

It'd be easier to disappear. Pack his things, slip into the night, and never look back. Ichigo's English is passable. He could leave the country, travel somewhere, someplace Soul Society wouldn't think to look for him. Live out his life as a regular human without any Shinigami or Vizard or even Hollows around.

It isn't an impossibility.

Ichigo, however, has never been a coward; he's not about to start now. It's always been his way to leap straight into battle and damn the consequences. He's always faced his issues head on, and he's never taken the easy road, even when he should have. This moment, this battle on the horizon, is not so different. What's a few more nightmares? What's a few more sleepless nights?

"If you were seeking solitude, I can leave."

Ichigo nearly jumps out of his skin at the unexpected voice. Damn Aizen and his lack of reiatsu. Not to mention that he's naturally quiet. It makes him sneakier than Kisuke even. Sneakier than Shinji.

He doesn't look. Just raises his head and takes another sip from his bottle, the cold water going down with reluctance.

"Being alone is probably the last thing I want right now."

Aizen doesn't reply. There's a moment of silence, broken only by the whistle of the wind through half-bloomed trees in the garden. Leaves rustle softly, and the sozu clanks again. Ichigo glances over his shoulder to catch sight of Aizen still standing there, dressed as if for sleep in a simple yukata.

"That was an invitation, by the way."

The former overlord steps completely onto the veranda, sliding the door shut behind him. Perhaps Ichigo had been too deep in thought if he hadn't heard the noise of it opening in the first place.

"I didn't want to presume," Aizen allows after a few heartbeats.

He walks silently across the wooden decking, his feet as bare as Ichigo's own. If the chill bothers him, he shows no sign. But then, Aizen has always been inscrutable.

Ichigo lets out a sharp bark of laughter that could be taken as amused if one tilted their head to the side and squinted.

"Oh, really?" he asks before he can stop himself. "Then why come out here in the first place?"

Aizen tips his head, and his glasses shade his eyes. "You didn't look well."

Ichigo snorts. "Understatement of the fucking century." He lifts his free hand, raking it over his hair. "Why are you still awake?"

Aizen pauses beside him without managing to give the impression he's lording over Ichigo. His gaze seems locked on the garden, and the light fragrance of flowers that floats over them.

"The nights seem to curse me as much as they do everyone else," he comments evenly enough, but there's an undertone to his words.

"Oh?" Ichigo's brow lifts. He hadn't seen anyone else up, but there's an implication in those words he can't miss.

Aizen's hands clasp behind his back. "Urahara is awake as well," he answers. "I passed him. We did not speak."

"That'd be a first," Ichigo mutters and hauls himself to his feet, standing next to Aizen on the engawa and stretching with a creak and crack of muscle and bone. "I guess that the plan to invade Soul Society's putting everyone on edge."

Dark eyes shift toward Ichigo, still half-hidden behind the gleam of his glasses. "Why are you doing it?

Ichigo cocks his head to the side. He shifts to face the former overlord but is silent for a moment.

"Haven't I answered this before?"

"I'm still not convinced," Aizen counters.

And well, that makes two of them. Sometimes not even Ichigo is sure why he's doing this; he just knows he has to.

"You are risking your life for my goals," the brunet continues. "I want to know why."

"And you're not risking yourself?"

Aizen narrows his eyes, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

Ichigo gestures toward Aizen. Really, it doesn't take a genius to figure out this one.

"No reiatsu. No zanpakutou. No means of protecting yourself," Ichigo points out. "But you're determined to go with us into Soul Society. Who's going to watch your back?"

He straightens then. "I wasn't counting on that," Aizen replies softly.

And for all that Ichigo can tell, it's pure honesty. Then again, should he expect anything less when it comes to Aizen?

Ichigo laughs then. But it's a sharp and bitter sound, lacking humor.

"No, I guess you wouldn't." He pauses, his own questions dancing on the tip of his tongue. His mind has been awhirl all night, and Aizen is half to blame.

Why did he kiss Aizen? Why does he want to do it again? What does Aizen want from him? What does Ichigo want from himself?

He faces Aizen completely. Even as a breeze rises and tugs at his bare flesh, cool enough to make Ichigo's skin prickle.

"What do you want from me?" he questions, but it's not quite an accusation.

Aizen reaches up, removes his glasses, making it that much easier for Ichigo to see his expression. Perhaps to highlight the honesty in his eyes. Perhaps to manipulate Ichigo. He can't even begin to guess. His head is spinning, and Aizen's not making things any easier. No one is.

"I am quite certain I've always made that abundantly clear," Aizen says, voice soft. His fingers carefully wipe away dust from his lenses with the sleeve of his yukata.

Ichigo shrugs, failing to seem nonchalant. "In a way." His eyes shift toward the moon, which is rapidly disappearing behind dark clouds that have appeared out of nowhere. "You wanted me to help take over the throne. I get that. But I don't know why you asked me in the first place. What made you think I'd agree?"

There's a moment of quiet where Ichigo waits for Aizen's response and Aizen's obviously trying to find the perfect words. It seems like such a thing for him to do. Kisuke's just as guilty of it. The both of them, always trying to find the perfect thing to say, the best way to twist Ichigo to their own end. He can't figure out why he keeps letting it happen, why it doesn't piss him off when it rightly should.

"I didn't know for sure," Aizen finally admits slowly, carefully, as though letting the words unfurl from his mind with great caution. "It was a chance I had to take."

"Unohana-san gave you a chance to start over, a chance at a new life," Ichigo shoots back. "But instead, you're still focused on the war you lost. Why?"

From the corner of his eye, Ichigo can see Aizen working his jaw, obviously not expecting the question. But he should have. Perhaps Aizen isn't as omniscient as he would like to think himself.

"I don't think I can give you the answers you're looking for," Aizen answers, and the glasses return to his nose, making him seem the gentle and congenial man that had fooled everyone for so long.

Something burbles up inside of Ichigo though. An anger builds behind a quietly crumbling wall.

"You're not giving me any answers at all," Ichigo retorts, throwing up one hand.

And if he wants to be completely honest with himself, Aizen's always been like this. Never a direct answer, always a vague declaration. As if Ichigo should be satisfied with just that.

"Just like everyone else. If you dance around it or ignore it or let me wallow in my ignorance, it's not lying. Not really. Right?" He can't keep the accusation out of his tone this time, and Ichigo truthfully doesn't try.

For once, Aizen looks startled. His brow furrows, his body leaning subtly away.

"Kurosaki-kun-"

Another point of contention. Ichigo whirls toward the ex-captain. His heart beats a thousand miles of minute, and reiatsu dances over his skin.

"Stop calling me that!" he demands and roughly scrapes a hand over his head again.

He can't put it into words why he hates that address so much. Inoue – _Orihime_ – used to call him that all the time, the only one in their little group of friends and allies who always treated him so formally. Sure, Ishida called him Kurosaki, but it was joke and mockery all at once. With Orihime, it had always meant something different.

Ichigo knows why now, and he hates that he never noticed before, that he couldn't spare her that pain. It's not his fault, but the guilt settles in anyway. Piling on top of all the other weight he lets sit on his shoulders and drag him down, down, down.

He thinks he can guess why Aizen does it, too. Whether because of the kiss or because of the war or because of Kisuke or because he doesn't want to see Ichigo as anything more than a convenient tool. Take his pick.

Aizen's looking at him now though. His expression is unreadable as always, only showing as much as he wants Ichigo to see.

"I wasn't aware that I had permission to call you anything else," he comments evenly, but his posture isn't quite so relaxed. Ichigo is very aware that Aizen's powerless right now, and Aizen knows it, too.

"Permission," Ichigo repeats dully and sucks in a breath. "You know, you dance a pretty good game. Everyone thinks I'm too stupid to see manipulation for what it is, but I'm not."

Aizen lifts a hand, but then seems to think better of it.

"Kurosa- Ichi-"

He stutters, as though trapped between his own decisions and what he wants. For once, not even Aizen is sure, and Ichigo is somewhat mollified by that.

"Don't hurt yourself," he snaps, and everything is starting to crowd in on him.

Expectations and responsibilities and impending war and growing emotions that pile over the feelings that are already there...

Aizen's going to bear the brunt of it, but that's okay. Maybe it's what Aizen deserves for once. Maybe it's time Ichigo shows a little honesty himself.

His words come out sharp and accusing, more attack than conversation. "You may not be twisting me around, but I'm not blind." Each phrase deserves a sharp gesture. "The perfect things. The right words to say. It all works in your favor because I'm pushing Kisuke away and I barely tolerate my father."

Ichigo doesn't know what he's saying anymore, but he's tired of not getting it. Of being surrounded by inscrutable men who tiptoe around issues and refuse to answer questions and pretend that if Ichigo doesn't notice, it's okay. It's not lying, not really. It's Ichigo's own fault if he's too stupid to play their words games, to get the answers he really wants. Right?

Aizen looks at him, utterly confused. Ichigo feels a small amount of triumph in leaving the normally composed man at a loss for words.

"I honestly don't know what to say."

"Another first. Tonight seems to be the time for then." Ichigo shakes his head as he looks at Aizen, and something inside of him trembles. Not with fear or anger but something else he can't quite name. "What do you want from me?"

Aizen works his jaw. "That is a complicated question."

"No, it's not," Ichigo hisses, and he moves closer until there's barely a foot between them, and Aizen has no choice but to look at him, _see_ him, and nothing else. "You're making it complicated because you're trying to think of what I want to hear, whatever will best serve your goals."

Aizen's expression is unreadable. Save for a trickle of something that pools in his eyes, an emotion that Ichigo doesn't dare name.

"In that regard, then everything I say is suspect." He shifts almost imperceptibly but doesn't move away. "My words will never be taken as truth."

How can he be so fucking calm?

A harsh exhale escapes Ichigo's mouth. "For the love of- Can't you just answer my damn questions without playing word games?" Ichigo demands, struggling to keep his composure. "Is it too much to ask for some fucking honesty?"

Aizen looks startled, his lips parting as though he wants to answer but is unsure of the actual question. And that's a surprise there, Aizen being unsure about anything. The little moment of uncertainty, it makes him that much more human, and sometimes, Ichigo resents that he can see this side of Aizen when no one else – save perhaps Shinji – is allowed to witness.

"Ask me again," Aizen says quietly then, and there's a determination in his voice, one that hadn't been there before.

"What am I to you?" Ichigo demands perhaps bit wildly, but he _has_ to know. He needs someone to answer this for once. "What do you see? A way out? A way back? Something that can give you the power you crave? A tool? _What?_ "

He swears to all that is holy that he will _hurt_ Aizen if the words " _It's not that simple_ " emerge from the former overlord's lips.

But Aizen looks at him, as though he's seeing Ichigo for the first time. And this time, there's no pretense.

"All I see is you."

Something inside Ichigo stutters, grounds to a halt. His chest rises and falls in sharp staccato, and his pulse is a rush in his ears.

 _All I see is you_.

The words echo in the back of his mind. It could be another manipulation on Aizen's part, the perfect words for the perfect question. Another way for Ichigo to fall further into Aizen's perfect charisma. But Ichigo can't be bothered to give a damn, not anymore.

He wants this. He _needs_ this. So he lifts his hands, tangles his fingers in the folded layer of Aizen's yukata and pulls him closer. He seals their lips together in a messy, unplanned kiss that's as rough as it is wonderful. There's a moment of startled surprise before Aizen's arm curls around Ichigo's back and drags him closer.

Aizen's lips move in gentle exploration, his tongue sliding into Ichigo's mouth, tasting faintly of coffee and cream. His fingers press against Ichigo's shoulder blade, a faint pressure that pushes them closer together until Ichigo's arms are squashed between them, his fingers twisted in soft cotton.

Ichigo swallows down a groan, swallows the taste of Aizen on his lips, and reluctantly withdraws from yet another unplanned kiss. He can't deny it this time. He _wanted_ to kiss Aizen, and he wants to do it again if the low heat curling in his belly and the frantic thump of his heart is any indication.

He closes his eyes, unwilling to see whatever might be glinting behind Aizen's glasses and exhales quietly. Aizen is only an or two inches taller than him. At most. But it feels like more as Ichigo rests his forehead on the man's shoulder, trying to calm the roil of emotions inside of him. He can't remember the last time he felt so confused.

He can feel Aizen's breathing and hear his heartbeat like this. The sudden question of what the hell he's doing crops up again, but the overwhelming need to flee isn't present this time. Ichigo's not sure why. Maybe because he's not actually sorry.

"Why did you kiss me?"

It's soft. Gentle. Puzzled. But at the same time, it's not.

Ichigo sighs, lifting his head. "I don't know," he admits honestly and uncurls his fingers from Aizen's yukata. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." There's no hesitation in Aizen's voice, and he looks at Ichigo, searching his expression for something. An answer perhaps. "What now?"

"I don't know that either. I just..." Ichigo takes in a deep breath, tries to focus, but all he has are flittering thoughts that dance out of his reach. "I don't want to think right now."

The sun is slowly rising on the horizon, lightening the sky behind them. Aizen's fingers trek down his back, a careful walk that presses against his spine in a way that makes Ichigo's insides trickle with warmth. And all he wants to do is lean forward again.

"What do you want?" Aizen asks, and Ichigo forces himself not to stare as his mouth forms the words.

There are so many ways to answer that question with truth or cruelty or anger. But oddly enough, the answer Ichigo gives first comes easier than expected. Before he can even think to say something otherwise.

"Right now?" He shakes his head. "Just you."

Aizen is evil incarnate, but right now, he's the only one listening, and Ichigo will take what he can get. If he's being completely honest with himself, he can even admit to enjoying Aizen's company.

Aizen's lips tilt in a light smile. "I think I can manage that."

This time, he's the one who leans forward, bringing their mouths together. The kiss is soft, tentative, more exploring than anything else. They are still feeling out their boundaries. There's unknown territory here, and Ichigo will be the first to admit he has no idea what he's doing, why he's doing it, or where they're going to go from here.

They break apart sometime later to Aizen looking at him strangely.

"Sit down."

Ichigo blinks at the strange request. "What? Why?"

"Because you look like you need it," Aizen says quietly; his breath brushes warmly across Ichigo's lips.

"That and a good night's sleep," Ichigo agrees with a chuckle and turns to do as Aizen asks. He doubts that the man intends to stab him in the back now, and he's curious.

He lowers himself down to the edge of the porch, legs dangling over and facing the garden. The sky is growing lighter and lighter, night chased away by the rising sun and a wash of pale colors on the horizon. The chill doesn't bother Ichigo, not anymore. Especially when Aizen chooses to sit right behind him, close enough that Ichigo can feel the warmth radiating to his back.

He doesn't know what to expect until hands settle firmly on his shoulders and fingers dig into tense muscles. Thumbs push into the knots in Ichigo's upper back, and Aizen's talented hands seem to know exactly where the worst of the stress lingers. Ichigo groans, head sagging in defeat. It's an agony that feels too much like relief for him to complain, however.

" _Damn_."

Aizen chuckles then. Tone rich and dark and just a bit sinful. Ichigo shivers, and it isn't from the cold.

"That feels good I take it?" he inquires, not quite smug.

"Yes." Ichigo closes his eyes, tries to breathe evenly, to take the moment for what it is. Quiet, undisturbed, requiring no intense thinking on his part.

It's weird how comfortable he is right now. With a man who should be his greatest enemy but has become something else in the past few months. Ichigo doesn't know what to do or say about that, about _this._ But he needs it, and for once, Ichigo feels like being selfish.

"Ichigo."

His stomach does a little warm flip at the mere sound of his name. "Hmm?"

"How should I take this?"

He rolls his neck as Aizen's fingers move down. Digging into his back and pressing firmly on his spine.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "One day at a time?"

"That's the sort of answer I would give," Aizen replies.

"I know." Ichigo's hands dangle between his knees, and he tangles his fingers together, letting the massage work through the knots in his muscles.

Aizen's hands brace on his shoulders as he leans forward, his voice a warm whisper on Ichigo's ear. "Should I take this to mean that you trust me?"

Ichigo fights back a wince and the urge to stiffen. "I'm willing to consider you an ally," he says cautiously.

"At least it's a step up from evil incarnate." Aizen doesn't sound angry, but if there's a touch of disappointment in his tone, Ichigo chooses not to comment on it.

He chews on his lip and then considers honesty.

"Anything more feels like a betrayal," Ichigo explains softly, almost hoarsely.

Aizen, mercifully, does not ask Ichigo to elaborate, and they fall into an uneasy quiet. One that not even the comfort of Aizen's skilled hands can chase away. Aizen has effectively reminded Ichigo of the things he's been trying to forget. Namely that Ichigo has no business thinking of Aizen as anything more than the devil's advocate and closest associate.

In the end, Aizen is the reason for all of the shitstorm that Ichigo's life has become. He knows he should be furious about that, but part of Ichigo just doesn't care anymore.

Sometime later, after Ichigo is certain he's about to turn into a puddle of goo, the sound of the sliding door opening makes him startle. He all but leaps to his feet, away from Aizen's touch with the jumpy reaction of a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar. His cheeks are burning as he whirls to see Neliel stepping out onto the veranda, Shinji on her heels. The latter of the pair looks quite amused.

Only Shinji would be so rude as to interrupt. Ichigo's certain Neliel would've quietly turned away and left them alone, but Shinji has always been a nosy bastard.

"Well, ya two are up early," Shinji says with a lewd waggle of his eyebrows that makes Ichigo want to hurt him. Badly.

He even catches his hands clenching into fists before he forces himself to calm down. Luckily though, Aizen is the one to speak, rising to his feet and turning to face his former captain.

"As are you," he inserts smoothly. "I've rarely known you to rise before noon, Hirako-san."

Neliel grins at what is an obvious dig at Shinji's no doubt slacker ways. Meanwhile, Ichigo edges toward the doorway that would let him escape.

"It's more my fault than a choice of his own," Neliel replies, eyes flicking once to Ichigo before she focuses on distracting her lover. "Right, Shin?"

Shinji's eyes narrow, and he looks torn between commenting on the obviously embarrassing situation and letting things lie.

"So it would seem," he drawls.

Ichigo can feel Aizen's eyes boring between his shoulder blades as he makes his escape through the door then. It's probably the least chivalrous thing to do, abandoning Aizen to Shinji's endless humiliation, but at least Neliel's there to provide some sort of buffer. Frankly, Ichigo just doesn't want to hear it right now. He's confused enough as it is.

Still, Ichigo has no desire to go back to his room and toss and turn on a cold bed. He doesn't have an interest in anything else either, but returning to his room is last on the list of his priorities. He scrubs a hand down his face and considers the kitchen, a hastily grabbed breakfast the first on the menu. And then, perhaps, he can see if Love or Rose – perhaps even both at once – would be interested in a spar. If there's one thing that'll successfully distract him it'd be a spar against two well-trained Vizard.

As Ichigo passes by the library, however, he notices that the door is open. That usually means that someone's inside; the windowless room tends to get stuffy without the air flow of an open door. Curiosity has him glance inside, an unexpected nostalgia causes him to linger, just outside the doorway without entering.

Kisuke's sitting at one of the small tables, papers spread out across the top and a few open books, too. His taps one of the books with his pen, and Ichigo can only see his profile, but it's enough. Kisuke looks tired, probably as tired as Ichigo does. With dark circles ringing his eyes and a pinched look to his face that ages him by several years. His reiatsu, usually a calm and steady flow beneath the surface, is tangibly rattled.

Another night filled with nightmares? Ichigo knows Kisuke has them from time to time. Anyone who lived through Aizen's war does. Perhaps there's something in the water.

Ichigo chews on his bottom lip, debating. To speak or not to speak? Kisuke hasn't noticed him yet. It'd be a simple matter to turn away, pretend he hadn't seen, and keep his distance. Continue giving the shopkeeper the cold silence he deserves. Ichigo's not at all impressed with Kisuke lately, but he misses their conversations, the things they actually had shared. He just misses _Kisuke_ , and that's the truth.

He doesn't know what to say, and once again, Ichigo considers just walking away. Turning around and pretending he hadn't stood here for well over a minute watching the man who was his lover. But he must've made some sound or let his controlled reiatsu slip because Kisuke turns slowly and notices him the doorway.

There's a moment of silence that speaks volumes to the tension between them before Kisuke smiles. Something tentative that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ichigo," he says.

And even Ichigo isn't sure how to respond. There's hope in Kisuke's tone but resignation and guilt as well. There are all kinds of things that Ichigo doesn't know what to do with.

He doesn't move from the doorway. "You're up late."

Kisuke holds up a document of some kind, the words blurred to Ichigo at this distance. "There's not much time before you leave for Soul Society. I can't go with you, but I can help in other ways."

"What are you working on?" Ichigo questions before he can help himself.

And he thinks that this is okay; he can handle this. It's a normal conversation that doesn't at all reference the unanswered questions and the unspoken truths.

Kisuke's eyes skip back to the paper, as though he doesn't dare hold Ichigo's gaze. "If it works, it'll temporarily bind people with strong reiatsu."

"Like a member of the Royal Guard."

Kisuke inclines his head. "Yes." He takes in a slow breath and sets down the paper. "It won't last forever, but it'll last long enough to get by them and head for the throne."

He's being awfully helpful. Ichigo can't help finding it suspect. Not when he knows Kisuke has always been against any idea that was closely related to Aizen. Does he think it's some kind of penance, or does he honestly believe in their course of action?

He looks at Kisuke and folds his arms over his chest. "Why aren't you protesting this?" Ichigo half-demands, but his voice softer than he'd intended. "You are the last person I thought would try to help."

Kisuke flinches and tries to hide the fact that he did. "I didn't think I had the right anymore. The decision is yours."

"But you would have before?"

"Yes," Kisuke answers, but before Ichigo can ask him to elaborate, the blond does of his own accord. "But not for the reasons you suspect."

Ichigo straightens against the doorframe. "What do you mean?"

"Anyone would assume that I'm against this because of Aizen, and I can hardly fault them for that. It makes sense. But it's not the truth," Kisuke says and looks him square in the eyes. "At least, not in part."

"Then why?"

Kisuke's hand clenches around the arm of his chair. "Because I don't want to see you hurt anymore," he answers quietly, and the look he gives Ichigo makes something inside him clench with hurt of his own "I've seen you broken and bleeding more than anyone else in this warehouse. In Karakura even. Is it wrong of me to hope for something different?"

Ichigo shifts restlessly. His jaws works for a second before he can get it to obey.

"You'd rather run and hide for the rest of your life then?" he asks, and some part of him already knows the answer.

The smile that curls Kisuke's lips is bitter, echoing a past that Ichigo still can't fathom. One that is the entire reason for Kisuke's loathing of Aizen.

"Eventually, Soul Society stops looking," he says lightly, casually, like it doesn't even hurt anymore. "Besides, it's not like I'm unaccustomed to it."

"I'm not." Ichigo shakes his head. "I can't do that."

"I know. Which is why I haven't protested," Kisuke replies, and without the shading of his hat, his gaze is that much more open. "You're not that sort of coward."

Ichigo works his jaw again. "No, I'm not. And neither are you," he insists.

That earns him a dark chuckle.

"I think recent circumstances would prove contrary to that."

Anger rises up in Ichigo again. He hates that defeatist look in Kisuke's eyes. Hates that gleams that says Seireitei is right, that Kisuke really is useless and a monster and worth killing. Hates that even though he's still angry, Ichigo still wants to step into the room and offer reassurance.

He doesn't. But it's a near thing.

"You're only as much as a coward as you allow yourself to be," he says instead.

A part of him wants to ask again, see if Kisuke wants to speak now. He wants his lover back, damn it.

How Aizen fits into this, Ichigo doesn't exactly know. He wants Kisuke back. He wants Aizen, too. He wants them both. He wants neither.

Ichigo doesn't know what the hell he wants.

Kisuke looks at him. Startled. Surprised. Almost hopeful.

But Ichigo turns away, stomach twisting into knots. He doesn't want to listen if there's not an explanation or an answer. Ichigo can't and won't ever understand that secretive mindset. He can't understand the desire to keep everything hidden, to run rather than fight.

But he'll have to figure this out sooner or later. Ichigo can't afford the distraction, and his emotions can't handle the stress. Someone has to bend before he snaps. Something has to break before he loses his mind.

That's all there is to it.


	35. Perception

"Well, well, well," Hirako says with an approving grin and a note to his voice that implies teasing and lots of it are soon to come. " _Someone_ took my advice."

Sousuke closes his eyes briefly, wishing for strength along with pounds of patience. And to think, this day had started off so well. Or at least reasonably so.

"How is it that you have the uncanny ability to appear at the most awkward moment?" he asks, opening his eyes and leveling a stare at Hirako.

Unsurprisingly, his former captain is unbothered by the implication. "It's a secret talent of mine," he declares flippantly. "So spill the beans, Sou-chan. Just how far have ya gotten with our belle of the ball?"

Sousuke stiffens. "I fail to see how that's any of your business."

"What Shinji means," Neliel inserts, laying a quieting hand on Hirako's arm and shooting him a reprimanding look that makes both Sousuke's brows rise, "is that we're interested in how well the relationship between you and Ichigo is progressing."

"Relationship?" the brunet repeats, unable to hide the disbelief in his tone. "We are former enemies who have managed to look beyond our enmity and nothing more."

Hirako chuckles then. "Now, Sou-chan, if that were all, I don't think I'd have caught ya kissing," he says and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Unless ya make it a habit of smoochin' yer sorta-allies? I don't see Kisuke puckerin' up."

Sousuke doesn't bother to hide his shudder. "And you won't either," he retorts and then flushes when he realizes all he's doing is falling right into Hirako's trap.

Neliel looks exasperated. As though she's struggling to keep control of this conversation.

"Does this mean you aren't interested in Ichigo?" she asks, and there's something about the soft tone of her voice that demands Sousuke be truthful and not evasive.

She's too much like Gin, he decides then. Sousuke never could deny Gin anything either. He hates the way Neliel looks through him sometimes, as though she is the worldlier one and he just a child who understands nothing. He hates that sometimes he thinks she may be right.

Sousuke's hands slip into his pockets for lack of sleeves to hide them in. He sighs.

"I didn't say that," he corrects. "But you have to admit that the circumstances are less than ideal."

Hirako snorts, passing over to stand on the edge of the engawa. "That's putting it lightly. Though it doesn't mean ya should sit back like ya've no stake in it either."

Sousuke _really_ can't tell whose side Hirako is on. He'd thought Hirako and Urahara to be friends, but it seems Hirako has completely given up on the shopkeeper.

"And I suppose I should listen to your advice?"

"You don't have to," Neliel says, her expression openly encouraging. "But I get the feeling it'd only benefit you."

Sousuke wonders if his inexperience is that obvious. That it's utterly clear he has no clue what to do with this situation. Sousuke's not completely pathetic. He's dated before, though that was decades ago and they separated on mutual agreement. After her, Sousuke started constructing his plans for restructuring Soul Society, and obtaining a lover became the last thing on his mind.

Not to mention fact that Ichigo is male. Which is entirely foreign to Sousuke no matter how much he'd like to pretend otherwise.

Sousuke lifts a hand, rubbing his suddenly aching forehead. He idly wonders if this is his true punishment for failing. For having his Espada, uncle, and Gin die and doing little to prevent it.

"I don't understand why you encourage this," he mutters more to himself than them.

Hirako should despise him, and Neliel should hold no love for him either. But here, they are, openly pushing him at their golden boy. It makes no logical sense.

But then, when has anything Hirako's done ever made sense?

"Because you'd be good for each other," Neliel replies simply, as though that's all the reason she needs in the world.

"And Urahara?"

Hirako snorts. "What about him? If he can't get his head outta his ass long enough ta see what he's losing, that's not our fault. I've tried ta get him ta see reason, but he's more stubborn than ya are."

Sousuke makes a less-than-immature face. He does not like being compared to that man in any way, but everyone seems intent on doing so. Even Ichigo for that matter.

His head starts to ache even worse. Being around Hirako is so very tiresome.

"Very well," Sousuke allows. He knows that even if he doesn't agree, his former captain will no doubt badger him into compliance anyway. "Since you believe I am completely inadequate here, what do _you_ think I should do?"

Hirako breaks into a large sort of grin that used to give Sousuke nightmares as the man's lieutenant. He strides toward Sousuke, clapping him companionably on the shoulder. Something that would've sent Sousuke reeling if he hadn't anticipated it and braced himself.

"I knew ya'd see reason," he declares, and there's something like humor in his eyes. "Now that ya've finally figured out what ya want."

Sousuke slips out from under his former captain's hand. "I've always known my desires," he retorts because it is the truth.

To replace Soul Society's ruling body has been his goal for decades, centuries even. Never once in there had he considered adding _pursuing a relationship with my former enemy who also happens to be_ _ **male**_ to that list. Particularly at the top.

Hirako's grin widens. "Yeah, but I'll bet ya never saw Ichigo coming. No one does."

Neliel chuckles, her gaze amused and full of warmth for her lover. "He's a rather intriguing force of nature."

"An undeniable presence," Sousuke murmurs, and he supposes he can't be blamed for his attraction.

Everything that Ichigo is reflects everything that Sousuke has always wanted: strength, intelligence, and an appealing sort of beauty. Ichigo has mystified him from their first encounter, and it makes sense that Sousuke would be attracted to such a puzzle, if only to keep trying to solve it.

An arm slings over Sousuke's shoulder then as Hirako pokes a finger into the brunet's cheek with his free hand. Sousuke tries to fight the instinctive flush; he isn't sure he's entirely successful.

"Aw, little Sou-chan has a crush," Hirako declares then, and his arm is like a vise. "That's just adorable. Yer lucky I'm going to help ya win our fair prince."

Perhaps it's his tone. Maybe the way his arm continues to tighten. But suddenly, Sousuke doesn't feel that fortunate.

o0o0o

Hirako and Neliel make things sound so simple when reality is so much more complicated. They think it should be easy for Sousuke to waltz in, to dare take a position at Ichigo's side. In truth, there is nothing that could be more tangled.

Sighing to himself, Sousuke avoids the room that has served as his sleeping quarters and searches for a place to enjoy solitude. Urahara has once again taken over the library, and even the sun room is occupied.

He heads up, thinking that no one will be on the roof. Not in the dead of night with a rather blistering wind running rampant. It's probably the only place Sousuke can go that he'll be assured Hirako and his unsolicited advice won't follow.

Sousuke can handle the innuendo, the advice on romancing, and the encouragement. What he won't abide are handwritten tips on the ins and outs of gay sex. Frankly, Sousuke doesn't even want to know how his supposedly heterosexual ex-captain has come to have this knowledge.

He feels a breath of cool air across his skin before he rounds the corner, and Sousuke finds that the door to the roof has been propped open, though only by a few inches. It often sticks, so perhaps the last person in had forgotten to close it. He edges out onto the roof, careful to close the door behind him, and bites back a shiver as the wind attacks him with an almost determined bluster.

Like most warehouses, the roof here is mostly flat except for a few projections to break the wind. Sousuke takes a deep breath, feeling unhindered for the first time since he followed Ichigo to this Vizard-infested pace, and glances over the edge. It's late, so the lights over the town are sparkling like distant fires but fewer than there would usually be. Most of the businesses have closed for the night. It's very quiet, Sousuke notices, and he relishes in it.

That's when he hears the sound of rustling, a liquid that sloshes, and someone else's breathing. Sousuke turns, and from the corner of his eye, he finds that he is not alone. Ichigo is here as well, braced against one of the housings for the heating units. There's a jug sitting on his left side, and Sousuke highly doubts that it's filled with water or orange juice.

He also has a suspicion that Ichigo is up here for the same reason as himself. Seeking solitude with wishes to not be disturbed. It would behoove Sousuke to respect that.

He turns back toward the door, but Ichigo's voice stops him in his tracks. It's low and husky and perhaps a touch amused.

"It's a big enough roof for the both of us," he says, and there's an invitation present.

Sousuke looks, and Ichigo's gaze has landed on him. The corner of his mouth is tilted upward, one hand lifted to wiggle the bottle invitingly in the brunet's direction.

"I might even share," Ichigo adds, and it ought to be a sin the way his eyes darken and cause something in Sousuke's belly to do a twisting flip of appreciation.

Sousuke's feet move before he can actually command them to do so. "What are you having?" he asks, and when Ichigo scoots to the left, leaving the space on his right an open invitation, Sousuke lowers himself down.

"Sake," Ichigo answers and hands him a cup, probably the one he'd been using. "Shinji doesn't know I have it, or he'd probably flip a lid."

Sousuke brow lifts as he accepts the cup and watches as Ichigo pours some into it. The jug sounds as if its half-empty, but Ichigo doesn't appear drunk. Perhaps he has a higher tolerance.

"Why would Hirako-san be angry?" he poses but already has a vague idea.

"'Cause it's his special bottle," Ichigo returns with a grin that makes something inside Sousuke do odd little twists. "Very expensive, very good shit."

Sousuke looks at the clear liquid in his cup. "Won't he miss it?" he asks and takes a sip. The taste of alcohol dances across his tongue, and he fights not to grimace. He's never been a fan. Certainly not like his uncle or mother.

Still, he can't help the way his brow lifts. This sake is indeed very high quality. He is surprised it wasn't kept under lock and key. Who knew that Hirako had such good taste?

Ichigo tilts the jug toward his mouth then. "Yeah," he says and lowers the jug, turning toward Sousuke with another one of those mischievous grins. "But who cares? We might die tomorrow, so it'd be a shame to let this go to waste."

Ah, yes. The battle soon to come. Sousuke can't say he'd forgotten about it, but the truth of the matter is, there's little he can do to be prepared. He cannot practice his kidoh or his sword-skills, and his hand-to-hand abilities are only going to get him so far. The fact of the matter is, he will be sticking to Ichigo's side and trying to be subtle about it.

"Death isn't an option," Sousuke comments quietly, hoping that they can somehow avoid a trip into maudlin territory. "It is victory or nothing."

Ceramic clinks as Ichigo pours more into Sousuke's cup. "I used to be that optimistic," he replies, almost conversational. "It wasn't until Grimmjow ripped Renji to pieces that I even realized that the good guys don't win sometimes."

He says it so frankly that Sousuke flinches, but he's unsure how he's supposed to take the almost offhand comment. Is this a silent warning? Or is this just the unthinking comment of a grieving man whose tongue has been loosened by drink?

He works his jaw, taking a long draw of the sake for courage. It doesn't work. Never has. But somehow, it settles the twitch of his fingers.

"Good and evil are all a matter of perspective," Sousuke says carefully and with the hopes that he isn't provoking his companion into a resentful fury.

A small chuckle escapes Ichigo. It is nearly amused and definitely bitter. Sousuke has changed little in the last several years, but this boy who is now a man is miles different.

"Oh, I know that all too well," Ichigo says and turns to looking straight at Sousuke. In the shadows of the roof, his eyes are almost black. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting here with the man who's supposed to be my greatest enemy."

Sousuke meets his gaze evenly, but he can still feel the way the air has shifted. Perhaps it is the wind. Maybe it is Ichigo's reiatsu that he can't quite pull in entirely anymore. He can't really say.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, and his voice is very, very soft.

Ichigo waves it away. "I invited you, didn't I?" There's a twinge of annoyance in his tone. "Are you always going to assume you've crossed some invisible line?"

Sousuke finishes off the sake and contemplates the emptiness of his cup. "I'm well aware of the precariousness of my position."

That makes his companion scoff. Somehow, it is oddly reassuring.

"But you're still sitting here."

His head tilts into a shallow nod. "Yes, I am."

After all, only a fool would walk away after an invitation from Kurosaki Ichigo. Only a fool would let him sit on the roof by himself, finishing off a bottle of sake alone on the eve of declaring war against Soul Society. Sousuke is not Urahara; he is not that foolish.

Ichigo's tongue darts over his lips. Sousuke follows the motion with more intensity than makes rational sense.

"Doesn't say much for your sense of self-preservation, does it?" the younger man asks and lifts the jug again, gesturing for Sousuke to move his cup within reach.

"There are some things worth the challenge," Sousuke answers without thinking.

It's a first for him, not even considering the consequences or the effects of his words, and that's when sake spills over his fingers as Ichigo misses the cup entirely.

There is honest surprise in his eyes, as though he's forgotten all about the events of the past few days. Then again, to be fair, Ichigo has done all of the initiating, and Sousuke hasn't done much to assure the Vizard that he's quite interested as well. Sousuke _himself_ hadn't realized just how far his intrigue stretched until so very recently.

This is something that must be rectified, and the sooner the better.

"You..." Ichigo stutters, and though it is dark, Sousuke can see the color darkening his cheeks.

"I apologize," Sousuke interrupts but is quick to elaborate when Ichigo's eyes narrow at what he perceives to be a rejection. "I should've made my intentions clear sooner."

There is a moment where Ichigo seems to realize exactly what Sousuke means, and that's the chance that he takes to cup the back of Ichigo's head and pull him closer. Their lips meet, breaths mingling with the familiar taste of the sake. Then, Ichigo's tongue is in his mouth, warm and wet and oh-so inviting.

A hand lands on Sousuke's thigh, squeezing warmly, and Ichigo leans into the kiss, deepening it with a sound bordering on a purr that echoes in his throat. The lazy twist of heat building in Sousuke's belly is inclined to agree, and his thumb strokes the curve of Ichigo's jaw. He sets out to explore Ichigo's mouth, so utterly pleased that Ichigo isn't the sort to merely sit and be handled.

Instead, he is as much a force of nature here as in everything else, tongue setting out to claim as his lips move with a demanding pressure. His fingers knead against Sousuke's thigh as he pulls back long enough to nibble on Sousuke's bottom lip before deepening the kiss once more. Sousuke's fingers tease at the nape of Ichigo's neck as the wind stirs, cutting around their little shelter.

It has been years since Sousuke has kissed anyone; he had almost forgotten the simple joy of it. The taste of someone else on his lips, the sound of their breathing, the scent of another person surrounding him. The force of their touch and the eagerness of their spirit. Ichigo must have loosed more of the control of his reiatsu; either that or the alcohol lessens his inhibitions. It's a light buzz on the air, a gentle tingle that runs along Sousuke's body as opposed to taking away his breath.

It's quite a heady feeling.

The jug clunks to the rooftop; a sound that Sousuke only dimly notices because it frees Ichigo's other hand, giving him room to grasp Sousuke's own. Ichigo ends the kiss, but before Sousuke can think to protest, sake-sticky fingers are drawn toward Ichigo's mouth.

"We don't want it to go to waste," he says huskily, promise heavy in his gaze.

Sousuke's breath catches in his throat, a mixture of anticipation and building arousal as Ichigo's tongue flicks across his skin. His eyes are dark and dangerous; there should be a rule against something this erotic. But he laves Sousuke's fingers with his tongue, drawing each into his warm mouth and cleaning them of the spilled sake. With every pass of his tongue, it feels like there is a direct line to Sousuke's groin.

Ichigo is trying to kill him. There's no other way to explain the situation.

Sousuke groans as Ichigo releases the last finger with a lewd sound. One that would probably destroy lesser men. And in a sense, it does exactly what Ichigo intends, destroys Sousuke's control. He leans forward, crashes their mouths together, and feels a thrill shoot through him as Ichigo moans low in his throat.

The kiss is brief, a clashing of lips and tongue, before Sousuke's mouth wanders elsewhere. He's intrigued by the thin layer of stubble on Ichigo's jaw and more intrigued by the hollow of his ear. The Vizard smells like a mix of sake and soap, and when Sousuke's mouth explores the hollow of his throat, he can feel Ichigo's pulse against his tongue. He feels like a schoolboy all over again, groping in the shadows of the roof.

Ichigo's left hand loses its hold on Sousuke's and instead grips the front of his shirt, fist tightening in the thick cotton. His fingers flex on Sousuke's thigh, a gasp escaping his lips and quickly carried away by the wind. Sousuke's lips travel upward, finding a tasty ear to nibble on, rewarded by the soft moan that Ichigo allows.

The grip on Sousuke's shirt loosens, and then, Ichigo's fingers are boldly trekking elsewhere. They find the untucked tails of Sousuke's shirt and dip beneath the fabric. Cool fingers rub across Sousuke's belly, making his insides do a twist of aroused joy.

But they are on a roof after all, rather exposed with a chilly wind seeking to make either of them ill before the morning. Not to mention the unanswered questions that still dance in the edges of Sousuke's mind, demanding to be addressed. With much reluctance, Sousuke draws away, his tongue swiping quickly over his lips as though to savor the flavor that lingers there.

Ichigo is looking at him, brow slightly furrowed, a silent demand for an explanation. His eyes are dark; he's not entirely unaffected either.

Sousuke braces himself, prepared to speak what will effectively be a mood-killer. But he has to know; his conscience won't allow anything else.

"I'm not Urahara Kisuke."

Ichigo's eyes narrow, but he doesn't move away in immediate affront. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not casual," Sousuke clarifies, and the last thing he wants to do is allow Ichigo to think that he's playing a game. That couldn't be further to the truth.

Though he loathes to admit it, Hirako and Neliel were right. Sousuke is serious about this. He doesn't want to be treated like a temporary substitute.

Ichigo blinks. "I… I don't know how to respond to that."

"With the truth," Sousuke says, not missing the irony in his statement. "Am I a distraction? A replacement? I'm not blind. You and Urahara are... _disagreeing_. But I don't believe that's the end of it."

An emotion flickers in Ichigo's eyes – Anger? Disappointment? – before he clenches his jaw.

"You're not a replacement or a distraction." He sounds annoyed. "But I can't answer you with any certainty either. The truth is, I just don't know, and whatever happens from now on is entirely up to you."

Sousuke isn't sure how to take that either. Does that mean Ichigo is genuinely interested?

He settles for simplifying his question.

"Are you and Urahara through?"

Ichigo's eyes skitter away. "Yeah. We are," he grits out, but there's no certainty in his voice, no firmness. His tone wavers, and he chooses that very moment to sit back, fingers unfurling from Sousuke's shirt and his warm hand disappearing.

Sousuke doesn't believe him. Oh, he doesn't think Ichigo is lying. More like Ichigo is only saying what he believes to be the truth right now. For all intents and purposes, Urahara won't get over himself to give Ichigo what he needs. So yes, they are over.

But should Urahara grow a pair and realize how much of an idiot he's being... Sousuke isn't so sure. Ichigo is the forgiving type, and though Sousuke loathes Urahara, he can't deny the ties they share. Something Sousuke can never hope to match.

It's an unending circle of uncertainty. Sousuke could spend all night overthinking this. And maybe that's his problem, putting too much thought when he should be focusing on action. Maybe for once, he should seize the moment and worry about particulars later.

Sousuke leans forward then, and the kiss is soft now. Almost gentle and searching and reassuring. A brush of lips and open mouths and tongue that is light and not demanding. Sweet. Nearly aching.

This time, it's Ichigo who draws away first, and the silence is companionable as they sit next to each other. Ichigo drinks from the sake jug, but Sousuke merely toys with his cup. He has no great love of sake and shakes his head when he's offered more.

"How are you getting the key?"

Ichigo's question comes out of nowhere, but Sousuke isn't truly all that surprised. He's been expecting this for some time to be perfectly honest, but still, he hesitates. He has already said he wouldn't to everyone else, but he supposes he can make an exception for Ichigo. He can be certain Ichigo won't betray him or his source.

"It will be given to me," he says, and lets the sound of the wind fill the quiet for a moment. "From a mutual friend of ours."

Ichigo idly sloshes the remaining sake around in the bottom of the jug. "Unohana-san, I assume?"

"Close." Sousuke takes a deep breath. "Nanao-san will bring it to me."

"Ise?" Ichigo repeats, and indeed, he sounds utterly shocked. "Why would she do that?"

Sousuke doesn't know how to answer that. Both she and Unohana are noticeably vague in their letters, refusing to elaborate on their motivations. He only knows that they're willing to support him – as Shunsui would've done. Whether or not their past relationship has anything to do with it, Sousuke can only speculate.

"I don't know," he answers truthfully and sets down his cup. "She hasn't given me a good explanation in her letters."

Ichigo blinks. Surprise is etched into his features.

"Letters?" he repeats. "Since when have you been getting letters from Soul Society?"

"Since I've been slipping out of the house when you were otherwise occupied to check my post office box," Sousuke answers and tries to chase away the mental images of what he means by _occupied._

It doesn't take long for Ichigo to connect the dots, and when it does, that alluring blush darkens his cheeks. Ichigo ducks his head for a second and runs a hand over his hair.

"Kisuke would flip a lid if he ever heard you admit that."

Sousuke can't help his smirk. "I know," he retorts and doesn't bother to hide the smugness either. "He always thought I didn't dare leave, but with him distracted, he never noticed."

Ichigo's face is still red as he glances up, but his expression is puzzled now. Searching.

"I don't get it."

Sousuke tilts his head at the sudden segue. But Ichigo doesn't clarify.

"Pardon?"

One hand makes a vague gesture. "I understand Kisuke's anger. I understand why the Vizard might hate you so much. I get that." He lifts a shoulder. "What I don't understand is why you hate Kisuke so much. What did he ever do to you?"

Tension coils unhappily in Sousuke's belly. Ichigo just _had_ to ask didn't he? Just when Sousuke is trapped between the truth he has no problem sharing and the way said truth might be taken. Would Ichigo believe him? He doesn't know, can't even begin to guess.

"I'm not certain I can answer that," Sousuke allows and looks away.

It's easier to deny Ichigo when he's not looking directly at him. His hands clench and unclench, the knowledge sitting inside him like a lead weight.

Ichigo shifts, empty sake jug clunking to the rooftop beside him. "You can't tell me you forgot," he says with a snort.

"I've not," Sousuke returns, and it's a bit more fierce than he'd like. "By all the gods, I will _never_ forget."

Ichigo is nearly taken aback at his tone. Not that Sousuke can blame him. He isn't given to anger very often. Though Urahara Kisuke admittedly brings out the very worst in him.

"Then why can't you answer?" Ichigo questions after a few minutes.

And of course now is when he'd prove to be most persistent. Before, he would've taken Sousuke's evasive answers at face value and left well enough alone. But now, with this _thing_ between them, he feels he has the right and the duty to snoop.

Sousuke sighs.

"In order to explain myself, I'd give away Urahara's secrets as well, and that is unfortunately not my place."

Ichigo's eyes narrow; his reiatsu is a suddenly buzzing presence that prickles across Sousuke's skin. Not hurtfully but it's definitely noticeable.

"Great," the Vizard mutters. "Someone _else_ who doesn't want to tell me the truth."

"It's not so simple," Sousuke inserts and tries to explain himself without sounding patronizing or that he's on Urahara's side in any small way. "I'm neither lying nor concealing a fact. There is something, yes. Something that gives me great reason to loathe that man's existence, but even I recognize that exposing that particular event would lessen your opinion of your teacher."

A muscle jumps in Ichigo's jaw. "That only makes me more curious."

Sousuke shakes his head. He's very tempted to say it. Oh-so tempted. But he knows there are lines he mustn't cross. Not here. Not yet.

"I'm sorry, but that knowledge is between Urahara and myself." His gaze is unflinching as Ichigo's eyes narrow. "Though frankly, I'm not sure even he knows. Either way, it is not something that affects you directly. It is my secret to keep."

Ichigo looks at him a second more before he props his chin on his knuckles.

"Interesting."

Sousuke lifts his head. "What is?"

"The fact that you'd keep any truth to yourself, even after knowing how badly I react to secrets," Ichigo says, and a small smile curls his lips. "That's pretty ballsy."

Sousuke allows a shrug. "Perhaps. But at least in this case, I have told you why I can't reveal that information up front. I'm sure there are some things you wouldn't wish to share with me."

Ichigo makes a noise of agreement in his throat, but shadows pass through his eyes. He straightens, leaning back against the wall behind him, gazing forward at the night sky.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly. "So I'll let you off the hook for now. But don't think I won't ask again."

Sousuke merely inclines his head. It's a reprieve. A temporary one at best.

But for now, that is enough.


	36. Candor

It's too late. _He's_ too late.

The realization bounces back and forth inside Kisuke's skull as he paces within the confines of the bedroom he shares with Isshin. Despite his shitty luck as of late, it seems someone had granted him a concession because Isshin's currently absent, probably obsessively training in the basement like everyone else who's joining the assault on Soul Society. Everyone except Kisuke, of course. His exile is still in effect after all, and he hasn't the time to create something to counter it.

Not that it matters. Whether Kisuke can or cannot go doesn't change anything in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't alter the fate of that which matters most to him. He's already lost Ichigo – that damn scene on the rooftop, one he had played unwilling witness to – has pretty much proved that.

He's a coward of the worst kind, and it's come back to bite him on the ass. He can't even feel sorry for himself since he's the only one to blame. Not even Isshin and his craptacular timing can bear the brunt of this. Kisuke had his chance, and he blew it.

Coward, coward, _coward._

It's just like the past. Only a thousand times worse.

No, there's only a vague similarity between now and the past. Back then, Yoruichi had been only an unrequited love. She'd been a dear friend, a companion who was always welcome to a room, but her feelings hadn't been returned.

Kisuke can't really compare the two situations at all. Only the hurt is similar, the hurt and the knowledge of being left behind all over again.

_He wakes with a gasp from a dream he can't remember. There's a subtle tremor running through his body, and a vibration in his reiatsu. Benihime feels rattled, but Kisuke doesn't know why. Frankly, if it makes him wake like this, he doesn't_ _**want** _ _to know._

_He rakes a hand down his face, wipes sweat from his forehead, and throws back the blanket. His body aches and pops and cracks as though the years have been too heavy. But Kisuke knows better. It's the war that makes him feel this old. The war and all the memories associated with it._

_There's a subtle chill in the air. Kisuke grabs a robe, wrapping it around his frame, too lanky as of late. He really needs to eat more. He can now that he has the time._

_Outside, he can hear the wind and the rain, falling with a steady cadence against the roof. The sky is a hazy grey through the blinds. It matches his mood, and he bites back a yawn and scratches at his stubble. The floor is cold beneath his feet, but he doesn't feel like hunting around for slippers. It's early yet, too early for him to be awake, but Kisuke isn't in the mood to try and go back to sleep._

_He steps into the hallway, the silence of his shouten surrounding him. Ururu and Jinta are probably asleep still, though Tessai is up and poking around in the fridge for an idea for breakfast. Which leaves one other occupant in the house._

_A small smile curls Kisuke's lips as he pads quietly down the corridor, though it quickly fades. Cats are notorious for sleeping in, but this particular feline has had as much trouble sleeping as Kisuke lately. She's taken Soifon's death particularly hard, and Kisuke understands why. He can't fault her for that. Just like he can't fault her for the building distance. He understands, but that doesn't make it hurt any less._

_She won't accept his comfort. That hurts even more. All he can do is be a silent support, give her a room, warm meals, a place to call home._

_Kisuke rounds the corner and pauses as surprise filters through him. Yoruichi's door is pushed wide open, a rarity. He approaches it, but the silence of the hallway echoes ominously to him._

" _Yoruichi-san?"_

_There's no answer. Which means nothing. Yoruichi is like a cat, after all. She often disappears for one reason or another. Perhaps she had business to take care of. Or maybe she just wandered off as she sometimes does._

_Standing in the doorway, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe, Kisuke peers into the room. Her futon's been carefully folded, another rarity, the blankets arranged with care on top. The room looks oddly clean, the curtains drawn back to reveal the gray morning. The usual disordered piles of clothing and belongings are missing._

_There's a piece of paper sitting on the folded futon, and for some nameless reason, his heart gives a thud in his chest. A bad feeling makes something inside of Kisuke ache. He pushes himself to enter, approach the futon, and lean forward. His name is written on the outside of the paper. Not his family name but his given one._

'How cruel _,' he thinks but reaches out anyway. '_ How typical. _'_

_Part of him can already guess what it must say. Another part of him is desperately, stupidly hoping that it's a promise._

_He unfolds the paper – a letter, he tells himself – and reads the contents so quickly he hardly absorbs them. There's not much, only a few lines, but it says all that Kisuke hasn't wanted to hear._

_He reads again, slower this time, the edges crinkling where he's gripping too hard. His heart pounds out of his chest, and his throat is dry and tight._

_She's sorry._

_She's gone back to Soul Society. She's not coming back._

_She's sorry._

_And a wish._

'Please be happy. _'_

_What kind of bullshit is that? As if he could with her gone. With her abandoning him._

_Kisuke folds the paper carefully, following the creases with diligence. Until all he can see is his name once more. Perfectly, personally inked._

_How cruel of her to go to the one place she knows he can't follow. Where she can easily ignore any possible messages. Where she can move on and tell him to do the same thing. As though it's just that simple, that easy._

" _Urahara-san?"_

_He stirs at the sound of his name and carefully tucks her letter into his pocket._

" _Is breakfast ready?" Kisuke asks, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice as he turns to find Tessai standing in the doorway._

_The man's expression reveals nothing. But he's known the both of them – Yoruichi and Kisuke – too long to not realize the truth of things._

" _Yes," Tessai replies, eyes skirting around the room, noticing all the things that Kisuke had upon first standing in the doorway as well. "I just have to wake Ururu and Jinta."_

_Kisuke smiles brightly –_ _**fakely –** _ _and wishes now more than ever that he had his hat._

" _Oh, don't worry. I'll do that," he says as he moves to pass his lifelong friend. Perhaps the only one who has seen it all, from the beginning to the inevitable end. "There's work to be done after all."_

_He steps into the hallway, and for a moment, for the life of him, he can't remember which direction their room is. It feels like his brain has stopped working. There's nothing but a big blank._

" _Urahara-san?" Tessai sounds worried._

_Kisuke shakes his head. "No, it's nothing," he puts in with a shaky laugh._

_He knows that Tessai doesn't believe him. But he's got to pull himself together. It's not like he's been dumped or anything. There would have to have been more between them for that to happen._

_It's just an inevitability. He was prepared for this, wasn't he? Not that it makes it any easier. He's been left behind, abandoned in the living world, and it's like a knife to the chest, bloodless but equally agonizing._

Kisuke's eyes open, and the memory washes over him with too much clarity. A letter. How lame is that? One day, he wakes up and Yoruichi's run away from him, fled back to Soul Society. So no, the two situations can hardly be compared.

That's nothing like the situation with Ichigo. This time, the pain is Kisuke's own fault. Only he can fix it. This time, Kisuke's the coward.

His eyes skitter to the two items sitting on the desk, waiting patiently to be handed over. He can't fathom giving them to Ichigo in the morning in full view of everyone with their eyes watching to see what his reaction might be. Kisuke values the Vizard's friendship, but even he knows they're all a bunch of nosy busybodies. And frankly, Kisuke's tired of all his mistakes being on display.

Sighing, he stops his pacing and moves to the desk. If anything, at least Kisuke can give them to Ichigo in person. It doesn't hurt that he _wants_ to see Ichigo. He might still be straddling the fence when it comes to the things Ichigo expects of him, but the truth of the matter is, Kisuke can't let things lie. Maybe if he explains himself. Maybe...

Maybe it's too late, and he should just cut his losses while he still can.

Tucking the items under his arm, Kisuke closes the door behind him and ponders where Ichigo might be. He closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of reiatsu in the warehouse. If he hadn't spent so much time around Ichigo with their reiatsu intertwined, Kisuke might've had a hard time picking him out of the Vizard-soaked walls. But there's a familiar ping on his senses, an ache in his heart, and the blond turns to the left, toward one of the smaller storage rooms.

He doesn't know why Ichigo is there. Hiding, perhaps. It's one of the few places someone can find some solitude in this place. Right now, that's probably what Ichigo wants most.

Kisuke passes through several empty hallways, glad that he hasn't run into Shinji or Aizen and finds himself where Ichigo's holed himself up. The door is cracked open enough that Kisuke can see through without seeming sneaky about it, and he pushes it the rest of the way open. At first, all he can see is a gigantic bookshelf spilling contents into the floor, but as he edges around it, he spies Ichigo tucked away in the corner, curled into a chair. He's staring out the window into the dark, rainy night.

Ichigo looks troubled, brow furrowed, eyes dark. He's frowning, gaze distant, and as Kisuke watches, one hand lifts to his chest. He's been doing that a lot lately, rubbing at his breastbone as though it troubles him. That worries Kisuke, yet another something that keeps him awake with nightmares.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asks quietly.

Either Ichigo sensed him already, or he wasn't as lost in thought as he looked. He barely even stirs at the sound of Kisuke's voice. Instead, he grimaces, fingers rubbing a steady circle over his breastbone.

"It didn't used to. But lately... yeah, it aches."

Kisuke sets his belongings on a small table that hosts an unlit lamp. He approaches Ichigo, hand outstretched, before he thinks twice about it. He's lost his right to touch without permission, hasn't he?

"... May I?"

Ichigo looks at him for a moment but nods wordlessly. The dark circles under his eyes haunt Kisuke's conscience. He lowers his hand, leaving the blond room to reach forward and gingerly place his palm over Ichigo's chest.

He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on Ichigo's reiatsu. Physical contact makes it easier, so Kisuke breathes deeply, feeling Ichigo's energy and the dark power that churns beneath it. They are so different it should be easy to tell them apart, but where two things had once pulsed out of sync, they're now gradually shifting to a perfect rhythm. The edges are blurring as though merging completely.

Kisuke pales. Ichigo really isn't human anymore, is he? He's not Shinigami or Vizard either. He's something else entirely. And Kisuke did that to him.

"What is it?"

His hand lingers despite himself. As though magnetically attracted to Ichigo's heat and the subtle beat of his heart.

"I'm not sure," he admits with a sigh and forces himself to draw back. "I wish I had time to run tests, but it seems like your reiatsu and its power are... blending."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" the younger man questions. "What we intended?"

"I don't know," Kisuke admits, and he looks at his former lover with insides aching. "Ichigo, you have to let me take it out."

Predictably, however, Ichigo's jaw sets with stubbornness. "No."

"But we don't know-"

"I don't care," Ichigo retorts, looking away. "As long as I have it and no one knows, it's one less war I have to fight." His fingers start to rub at his sternum again, and something in his face pinches.

Guilt pours over Kisuke like a heavy ooze, dripping icy and cold down his head and across his shoulders. He should have _never_ agreed to this.

" _Destroy it."_

" _I wish I could."_

_Kisuke's hands are braced on the table as he stares at the object that has given so much pain and misery. Not for the first time does he ever regret creating such a horror. Like so many things borne from good intentions, it has done nothing but ruins the lives everyone around him._

_Sitting across from Kisuke, Ichigo looks up from where he's leaned his head on his hand. "Why can't you?"_

_Kisuke exhales harshly and makes a vague gesture with one hand. "Imagine a force three times stronger than the Hiroshima bomb," he says, putting it in terms that he knows Ichigo will understand. "Imagine it confined and vaporizing everything within a certain radius. That's why. There's so much potential stored within the Hougyoku that to destroy it would destroy everything around it."_

_Ichigo's shoulders slump. He too stares at the hated object, sitting so innocuous on the table._

" _Then what can we do?"_

" _Hide it, I suppose," Kisuke muses, but he honestly has no clue at this point._

" _Where?"_

_The ex-captain purses his lips. Hiding hadn't worked so well last time. Aizen had found it so quickly. He can't think of any place that would be well guarded, that would be so secret no one could ever think to stumble on it again._

" _I'll think of something," he insists quietly, fingers scratching across the tabletop. "Worst comes to worst, I'll do what's necessary."_

_Ichigo's eyes narrow with a dangerous glint. "What do you mean?"_

" _I will seal it within myself," Kisuke answers and leans back, crossing one arm and chewing on the thumbnail of his other. He's grateful for the shading of his hat. "It's the only way to be sure."_

" _Why would that work?"_

_The blond rolls his neck. He fights the urge to pace, brain already swirling with hypothesis and possibilities._

" _Theoretically, my reiatsu would act as a shield for its presence, and when I die, it should carry with me, the power dispersing through the reincarnation cycle." He chews on his bottom lip. "But whether or not it'll work with a Shinigami's spirit or whether I'll have to resort to a gigai, I'm not sure."_

_In effect, he'll basically do to himself what he had intended to happen to Kuchiki Rukia. Though it'll be a lot more complicated in his case because he hasn't already depleted his spiritual power by handing it over to a human. Kisuke doesn't like the idea of eventually becoming so powerless, but he likes the idea of another Aizen Sousuke trying to destroy the world even less._

_Ichigo frowns. Kisuke can tell that he's thinking very hard, but what conclusions he reaches are a mystery until he opens his mouth._

" _What about a human?"_

_Ice trickles into Kisuke's chest as he draws to a halt. "No," he says firmly._

" _A human wouldn't work?" But something in Ichigo's voice says he can already guess the answer._

" _No, because I know what you're thinking, and I'm not going to allow that," Kisuke retorts, feeling like he has to struggle to catch a breath. Isshin would absolutely_ _ **murder**_ _him. Not to mention a bunch of other people. "You've done enough, Ichigo. I'm not asking you to do anything else."_

_Ichigo leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm volunteering."_

" _No." Kisuke shakes his head hard enough to move his hat. "No way."_

" _You said it yourself, you don't know if a Shinigami can pull it off," his student argues back. "Besides, no one will expect it, and I guarantee you I don't want to use it." He smiles then, but it's sharp on the edges. Painful to look at and undoubtedly painful to bear._

_Kisuke feels a hand tighten into a fist. He swallows._

" _My answer is still no. I won't do it."_

His own words ring in the back of his head, but in the end, Kisuke caved. Ichigo had a point after all. A human's lifespan is significantly shorter than a Shinigami's, and with Ichigo putting distance between himself and Soul Society, no one would ever suspect that he had something that had supposedly been destroyed. Not to mention that Ichigo's reiatsu is already obnoxiously strong and unpredictable. A few strange fits and bursts wouldn't have been out of the norm for him.

Whereas Kisuke, as the creator of the Hougyoku, would be the first place anyone looked if they were seeking its power. No matter the rumors of it going missing or being destroyed.

Of course, Kisuke could have never seen this. Never seen that the Hougyoku would _bond_ with Ichigo of all things. Instead of remaining a separate entity buried within the depths of his soul, it is becoming a part of him. Something that will carry with him no matter what life he lives. No, Kisuke couldn't have seen this at all. Though perhaps he should have. Things never go the way he expects when it comes to Ichigo.

"I still think it would be better to do it now before something irreparable happens," the blond says, knowing that this has the potential to turn into an argument but unable to keep his mouth shut. He's worried, and he hates seeing Ichigo in pain.

But Ichigo just waves him off. "What's done is done. Drop it, Kisuke. I'm fine."

' _Liar,_ ' Kisuke wants to say, but that would sort of being the pot calling the kettle, wouldn't it? So he clamps his mouth shut and draws back, hating the tension that now hangs in the atmosphere between them.

"If you insist," he allows quietly. Almost meekly. And hates himself even more for that.

"I do," Ichigo retorts, and the anger's back in his eyes. He rises to his feet from the chair, looking as though his broken solitude has made him twitchy. "Were you looking for me?" he redirects after a few seconds.

"Actually, I was," Kisuke replies and the smile on his lips feels forced.

It's like they're strangers, or mere acquaintances, and he hates that, too. He turns back to the table and grabs the two items he brought with him.

"I finished the inhibitors I mentioned earlier," he explains, handing said pieces of equipment over.

Ichigo takes it with a slow but appreciative nod. "And the other?"

"When you open the gate tomorrow, it'll help disguise your location," Kisuke explains, waving his hand toward the key-shaped object. "That way you don't find yourselves walking into the middle of an ambush or met with an angry mob of captains out for blood."

His eyes light up with gratitude. "That'll be really helpful. Thanks." He salutes Kisuke with the item.

"You're welcome. I can't go with you, so this is all I can do," Kisuke replies softly.

Ichigo makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, probably unable to think of something appropriate to say back. Kisuke doesn't dare hope for anything more, and there's a long moment where they look at each other, the unspoken resonating thickly in the air. It's a tangible tension, but then, Ichigo clears his throat noisily.

"Thanks again." He rises to his feet. "I have an early day tomorrow, so I guess I should get some rest."

"Sleep well," Kisuke replies and watches him go, tongue sitting leaden behind his lips and a growing tightness in his chest.

His back has never seemed so ominous to Kisuke as it does now. He's walking away, and Kisuke can't fight off the feeling that this may be the last time he sees Ichigo. That the battle tomorrow is not exactly a walk in the park, and there's a good chance their entire team could perish. Ichigo has the luck of the gods, but he's only mortal. He's not infallible.

Ichigo could die tomorrow, and Kisuke's just going to let him walk away, is he? Just going to let him leave with this anxiety and tension and brokenness between them?

Shinji's right. Kisuke is nothing more than a selfish fucking coward.

"Ichigo."

The Vizard pauses, half-turns, his expression is a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion. As though he's given up expecting anything of his one-time lover. There's something in that look that seals the deal for Kisuke. That makes him take a deep breath, clench and unclench his fists, and open his mouth.

"I was an assassin," he says, and the words sit bitter on his tongue and make his mouth dry. "I told you I was in the second division, but I never explained my duties. How I was the third-seat and the one in charge of the Maggot's Nest."

Ichigo twitches. He knows the Maggot's Nest. He has to. They had probably planned to sentence him to an eternity of that dark place. He has to know what it is.

Kisuke's gaze falls. It's easier to talk if he doesn't have to watch the disgust crawl over Ichigo's face.

"I never questioned my orders. Maybe I should have," he admits. "I never wondered why innocent men were imprisoned because of the possibility of a later offense. I never asked why the people I killed had to die. I just did what I was told."

He looks at his hands, calloused but not as much as they used to be. They are trembling and dry, scarred a little from spilling chemicals. But these are hardly the hands of a soldier or an assassin anymore. They look clean, but Kisuke knows the truth.

_He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wipes off his fingers. He'd been sloppy today. Out of haste to get the task finished perhaps, he can't be sure. Regardless, more blood dotted his shihakushou than he could have expected. He supposes it's a small favor that his uniform is black._

_Tucking the cloth back into his pocket, Kisuke surveys the small house. It's a complete wreck. There's no way they can pass this off as a mere disappearance. The mother had fought back too hard. If she just could've taken her dues, it would all be so much easier._

_He sighs._

" _Clean this up," he orders his subordinates, who are already in the middle of bagging up the bodies and poking nosily into their target's belongings. "And quickly. Shihouin-sama expects us back soon."_

" _Yes, sir," a chorus of voices respond, as used to this as he has become._

_Kisuke inclines his head, certain they'll obey, and steps carefully over a pool of blood. Messy. Too messy. This should have gone quick and clean. Yoruichi-san won't be happy if they don't get this tidied up properly._

_Chamber 46 won't want the truth getting out either. Kisuke doesn't know why these three had to die. He doesn't know what possible crime a woman and her two children could have committed, but it's not his place to ask. If he dared, he'd probably find himself the next candidate for a bunk in the Maggot's Nest._

_He steps out of the hallway and into what appears to be a living room, complete with homey attire, furniture, and a wall adorned with portraits. How quaint. One stands out in particular, and Kisuke gets closer. The whole family is pictured here: mother, father and their two children._

_It's the father who grabs his attention; his face is one that Kisuke recognizes. It all falls into place. If the father disappears, the family asks questions. It's policy to cover all the bases. Kisuke's just cleaning up the witnesses. Someone else, Soifon if he remembers, took out the father._

_There's something familiar in the man's face though, in his blue eyes. Kisuke feels he should recognize him for another reason, and he crinkles his brow, trying to remember the so-called traitor's name. What was it? Kyou-something? He shifts, changes the angle of the light and catches his own reflection in the nearby glass._

_Huh. There's a speck of blood on his cheek. He reaches up to scrub at it._

" _Sir?"_

_Kisuke turns. "Yes?"_

_One of his subordinates stands in the doorway, a small woman who's almost as dainty as the mother she just bagged up._

" _We're almost finished," she says, brown eyes completely devoid of sympathy or compassion. The perfect blend for the Onmitsukidoh._

" _Good work." He turns away, portrait already forgotten. "Now, let's get out of here."_

It's strange that of all the deaths Kisuke has caused, it's that one in particular that stands out to him. They weren't the first family he'd been ordered to dispose of. Not the first woman. Not the first child. But something about that day has always stayed fresh in his mind. He never did find out the name of the man. That much is probably for the best.

"There's a lot of blood on these hands," he murmurs. "Innocent blood I'm no longer proud of. And some of it I even dared say was in the name of science."

"What do you mean?" Ichigo's voice is steady, betrays nothing of his reaction, but he has to be feeling disgusted.

Kisuke doesn't dare look at him. His resolve will crack if he does.

"The prisoners in the Maggot's Nest were considered criminals," Kisuke answers, feeling the shame spreading through him like a sickness. "No one really cared what happened to them, and there were times that I needed human subjects..."

He hopes that the implications are enough. He doesn't think he'll make it through more explicit explanations.

_He holds up the syringe and carefully squeezes out the excess liquid, making certain that there are no air bubbles. He doesn't want to kill his subject, after all. That would make this exercise pointless._

" _Have you buckled him down?" Kisuke asks once he's satisfied with the level of anesthetic in the syringe._

" _Yes, sir," one of his assistants replies, voice muffled by the face mask. "Though if he's unconscious, I don't see why it's necessary."_

" _I'm uncertain how long this drug will last with his metabolism and reiatsu," Kisuke answers, stepping toward the gurney where his subject has been carefully sedated. "It's better to be safe than have to put a mad dog down."_

_His assistant nods in understanding and then steps back, leaving Kisuke room to move forward. He looks down at his subject: Kuramoto Goh. A rather large man with a violent temper who had put more than one of his fellow students in the fourth division during training exercises. Soul Society expects him to turn homicidal at any moment, and he spends most of his time wearing reiatsu constrictors._

_Kuramoto also spends his days in a half-daze, courtesy of the unstimulating surroundings and the preventative medication that he's been stuffed with. But one can never be too careful, and Kisuke's not the sort to risk the life of his assistants. Should Kuramoto go on one of his rampages, Kisuke can handle himself. His delicate assistants and equipment? Not so much. And both of those are far harder to replace than the unconscious man in front of him._

_Kisuke reaches for Kuramoto's left wrist and tilts it toward himself. "Start recording."_

_His assistant turns on the machinery, which is Kisuke's cue to start talking._

" _This is Urahara Kisuke, day two of testing. Subject Kuramoto Goh. Applying first wave of anesthesia now."_

_He doesn't flinch when the needle breaches the man's skin, but he notices that Kuramoto does, the corners of his eyes noticeably tightening. Clinically, Kisuke categorizes that fact, and the rest of him distances himself as he watches the clear liquid empty itself out of the vial. It's all in the name of science after all. What purer reason could there be?_

"I've done a lot of things that probably match Aizen for evilness," Kisuke adds, even softer than before. "But it wasn't until I met you that I realized I had something to regret."

He doesn't know if Ichigo will understand what he means. Kisuke has only ever looked at his deeds as something that he had to do. As his job, his orders. But then Soul Society blamed him for Aizen's deeds, and he was exiled. He learned that Soul Society doesn't always know best. But he could live with it, deal with it, despite his doubts. Despite the voice whispering in the back of his head.

Then, they turned on Ichigo, and Kisuke's eyes opened fully. The thought of Ichigo being confined to that horrible place, never to see the sun, for nothing more than an imagined threat. It made his stomach churn. It made him realize that he'd been subjecting people to that for decades, centuries even. It made him realize that if things had been different, _Kisuke_ might have been the one sent to dispose of Ichigo.

Seeing his deeds through Ichigo's eyes makes Kisuke hate himself.

Ichigo's voice is quiet. Yet, it still manages to cut through the ex-captain's thoughts.

"Is that why Isshin is against this?"

Kisuke feels himself pale. "In part. Not that he has any room to talk."

"Oh?" There's more hostile curiosity in that one-word question than in this entire conversation so far.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo. That's his story to tell." Kisuke shakes his head. Now is the time for his confessions, not Isshin's. "All of us have secrets like that. Even Shinji." He sighs. "I should've told you about Isshin being a Shinigami, but-"

"No."

Kisuke's gaze snaps up. "What?"

Ichigo runs a hand through his hair, sighing with his own resignation. "I'm not mad about that anymore. I understand why you couldn't. Isshin backed you into that corner, trapping you between your loyalty to him and what you owe to me. I can't fault you for that." He looks at Kisuke then, and his heart flips at the lack of anger in Ichigo's eyes. "I want _your_ secrets. What it is you're so afraid of me knowing."

Hope mixes with fear and turns into a nauseating churn in his belly. Kisuke works his jaw.

"I've known your father for a long time. Unfortunately, he's seen me at my worst more than my best," Kisuke admits, that unsettling making him cold all over. He chews on his lower lip, words spilling out of him as unskillfully as always. "He knew I was in love with Yoruichi. And he knew I was sleeping my way through the Gotei 13 to distract myself."

" _Higashi-senpai is serious about you_."

_Isshin's footsteps are a steady cadence behind him, just as quick, just as annoyed. He's not giving up, no matter how much Kisuke tries to ignore him. He can't_ _**stand** _ _that self-righteous tone though._

" _I don't see why," the blond replies, fingers deftly retying his obi and tightening it up. "I never made any promises." He knows better than to do such a selfish thing. He might not make any commitments, but at least he doesn't lie to anyone._

_Isshin snorts. "Like that matters. You imply them when you let anything go further than a one night stand, and you know that. You let her think there could be more when you know good and well you don't even_ _**see** _ _her."_

_Kisuke cuts his eyes at Isshin, whirling toward the other man as he halts mid-stride. "It's not my fault if she misunderstands."_

" _You need to make things clearer," Isshin says stubbornly, looking down on Kisuke as he always does, like he's big and intimidating and always knows best. "Heavens only knows why, but Higashi-senpai actually likes you. End it. Otherwise, you're just being cruel."_

" _There's nothing to end." Kisuke folds his arms over his chest and looks away._

_Isshin makes a disgusted sound and pushes past him, their shoulders brushing roughly. "Fine. Have it your way. But someday, this is going to come back and bite you on the ass, and I'll be there to say I told you so."_

_He's gone before Kisuke can form a protest. Isshin will never understand. He doesn't know what it's like to look from afar._

_Kisuke sighs and gazes at the floor. Even so, Isshin might be right. If Higashi is thinking there's more, then Kisuke needs to leave. Now. Before things get too worse._

"It didn't matter if I liked them or they liked me," Kisuke admits, wondering how much lower he can sink. "If they were there for the night and I didn't have to sleep in a cold bed, that was all I needed. I thought that eventually Yoruichi would realize what she was missing, that she would open her eyes, and I clung to that thin hope for decades."

"Until?"

Kisuke's lips tilt into a bitter smile. "You know that part, don't you? She left after the war, headed back to Soul Society, and we barely talk anymore. I get letters every once in a while, but it's pretty clear I've been abandoned."

At least Ichigo doesn't sound hostile, just thoughtful. Kisuke keeps waiting for the disgust, for Ichigo to walk out of the room so he doesn't have to hear anymore, but it hasn't happened yet.

Silence sweeps into the room. Ichigo is the first one to speak.

"Why did you tell me all that?" His tone is soft. Quiet.

"Because you deserved to know," Kisuke replies and even surprises himself with his response. It emerges so easily, and he didn't even have to think about it.

It may be too late for their relationship as lovers, but perhaps this is enough to salvage what's left of their friendship. For Ichigo's sake, if no one else's.

"And because you are hoping for a little forgiveness?" His voice his harder now. Sharp but brittle.

"I would be lying if I said that wasn't the truth," the blond replies, and he looks at Ichigo, fully in the eyes this time. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I… I was afraid of what your reaction might be."

Ichigo rakes a hand through his hair in something like frustration. "I can't believe you actually thought I'd hate you for something that happened in the past. Before I was even born. That's what pissed me off, Kisuke. Not the fact that you didn't tell me, but that you didn't trust me enough." Brown eyes darken with disappointment. "I thought we knew each other better. I thought…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

Shame adds to the guilt.

"I'm sorry," Kisuke murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"I know."

Kisuke takes in a ragged breath, feeling like he's standing on the precipice. He wants to ask, but he's so afraid. Somehow, he does it anyway.

"So where does that leave us?"

Ichigo won't look at him for a moment, but when he does, it isn't hate or sadness or even anger Kisuke sees. Just tiredness.

"I don't know."

Closing his eyes, Kisuke tries to fight off the disappointment. "I understand."

He falls silent then, chews on the inside of his cheek. He honestly doesn't know what to say, not anymore. He's given the truth, he's been forgiven, but it doesn't feel like enough.

"I just..." Ichigo makes an aggravated noise. "Things are complicated. I can't say that everything's peachy-keen now and nothing's been broken. I still don't know if there was something to break. I don't know what to say, Kisuke. I just don't."

"Say you forgive me," the blond replies, and the yearning in his voice startles even himself. "Say that I've not completely ruined our friendship."

Ichigo swallows thickly. "I forgive you," he says, but it's soft. "But I'm not crawling back into your bed."

Kisuke works his jaw, bitter words on the tip of his tongue. He remembers what he had unintentionally witnessed. He remembers the kiss he saw, and he can't help thinking it's the reason why. That he really is too late, and Aizen, snake that he is, has slithered his way into the unoccupied place at Ichigo's side in Kisuke's absence.

"Don't make that face," Ichigo puts in with an exhausted sigh. "You're accusing Aizen, and I know you are. This has nothing to do with him."

Just what sort of face had he been making? Ichigo is right, but that doesn't mean Kisuke has to like it. Aizen has _everything_ to do with it.

"How can you say that? Everything that's happened is because of him," Kisuke demands, too aware of their proximity. How their bodies are so close, but Ichigo still feels so far away.

The Vizard arches a brow. "And if he'd never shown up, who's to say we would've ever ended up in bed together? Did you ever think about that?"

Kisuke feels sick at the thought of attributing any portion of his happiness to Aizen's unlucky appearance. And even worse at the knowledge that he very well could've never had Ichigo at all.

"Since I'm worse than where I started, I fail to see how his arrival is a good thing," Kisuke finally mutters, and it's so bitter.

"That's not his fault either," Ichigo shots back and gives another sound. "Look, Kisuke, I don't want to turn this into something about Aizen. All I'm saying is that you give me what you asked me for. Some time."

Kisuke takes in a deep breath. "I understand. Just... be careful. Tomorrow. I don't want to lose my best friend."

And so much more, but now isn't the time to say such things. He could've said them earlier. Before Isshin. But now's too late. Or hopefully too early.

"And you don't want to make Yuzu cry either," he says instead.

Ichigo actually gives something of a smile at that one.

"No, I don't," he muses and glances up as though he could see her face right there. Then, Ichigo turns to the door once more. "Later. I'll see you when we get back."

Ichigo's gone before Kisuke can say anything else, and he watches after with a prayer building in his heart. He doesn't believe in gods or anything like that, but if there was one out there, he prays that they're listening. That for once, they'll answer Kisuke's prayer.

Let Ichigo live. Let him come back.

 _Please_.


	37. Homecoming

Dawn comes damp and grey, causing Ichigo's spirits to sink into his stomach. Not that he's particularly energetic in the first place. His belly is a twist of knots, his nerves completely raw. The fact that he's going to be invading Seireitei within the next fifteen minutes sits like a stone gargoyle on his shoulder.

Wind tugs at his hair. The town spreads out sleepily below him, slowly waking and greeting the day. A dog barks in the distance. A few horns sound in the street, but even traffic is at a minimum right now. It's almost peaceful.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the clammy air, and lets that chill soak into his being. Numbing him to certain responses, to the fear. He can't afford that kind of distraction. He's strong; he's going to do this.

Resolved, Ichigo turns away from the edge of the roof and heads back inside.

The warehouse is fraught with tension. Ichigo can feel it in the air like a tangible pulse of power and anticipation. He knows that everyone's in the basement, but first, Ichigo makes a stop by his bedroom. He changes clothes, decides against wearing Shinigami-black and settles for something else. Comfortable pants. A short-sleeve shirt, no design on the front. Socks and his favorite shoes.

Whatever his clothing says about his alliance, Ichigo doesn't care. He's comfortable, he's himself, and he's not choosing a side. Not anymore. The only side he's on is his own. The fact that quite a few other people are on it too is coincidental.

Zangetsu goes over his back, strap firm across his chest, the weight too familiar. There's a pulse from his blade – Zangetsu's ready for this – and a purr in the back of Ichigo's mind – so is Shirosaki. His chest aches a little. Ichigo's fingers flutter across it briefly before he drops his hand. Yeah, that's ready, too.

He grabs the things Kisuke made for them and shoves the items into his pockets. He's about as prepared as he can get at this point.

Ichigo leaves his bedroom, closes the door behind him, and heads down, passing equally empty rooms. Everyone should be downstairs, even those who aren't going into Soul Society.

Ichigo's the last to arrive. He hadn't planned it that way, but somehow, it seems fitting. He's also struck by an amusing sense of deja vu at sight of Kisuke standing next to a built gate. Only instead of Tessai on the other side, it's Hachi. The gate's not been activated yet, so it's missing that ripple between the two pillars, but the effect is still familiar.

It feels like years ago, when Ichigo was just a teenager and had no clue what he was getting himself into. This time, however, he has a pretty good idea. And he's still going to do it. That's the epitome of foolishness right there.

"About time ya got here," Shinji says, the first to greet Ichigo. He's grinning like they aren't about to go to war, hands tucked in his pockets, stance relaxed. "I thought we were gonna hafta do this without ya."

Ichigo snorts. "So you're going to try and sit on the throne?"

Love groans like that's the worst idea he's ever heard. "If that happens, I'll happily take my exile."

A quiet, nervous chuckle echoes through the basement. They are all trained soldiers for the most part, but Ichigo can't blame them for being apprehensive. Ichigo's not exactly confident in victory himself. But he's still going to do this because he can't fathom walking away. Not right now, not anymore.

He's already done that once, and look where it got him.

Ichigo glances around. Kisuke and Hachi are by the gate, the only two not going, waiting with a mixture of patience and anxiety. Ichigo purposefully only looks at Kisuke, unsure what to think about his lover – or former lover. Ichigo honestly doesn't know what to call this man anymore. Friend sometimes feels like too much but not enough.

Isshin's here, too. In Shinigami black. Arms folded over his chest, zanpakutou at his waist. The strip of white cloth over his shoulder is missing though. He's pointedly not looking at anyone, staring at the ground as though it holds all the answers.

It strikes Ichigo that he doesn't even know the name of his father's sword. He wonders, offhand, if Isshin knows what Ichigo's is called? Gods above and below, Ichigo can even name _Hiyori's_ zanpakutou. Not to mention Aizen's and that of every Espada. All of them off the top of his head.

But he doesn't know his own father's? Doesn't even know what it does or what it looks like in shikai.

An old, familiar anger starts to stir again, but Ichigo fights it down. Now isn't the time. He can demand answers later; Isshin's already promised to give them. Right now, Ichigo needs to focus. So he tears his gaze away and moves onto the rest.

The Vizard are here, even Lisa, in various states of dress. For all that they must be anxious, they look composed. Hiyori especially seems more annoyed than anything. Hands crossed, one foot tapping a nonsense rhythm, her eyes narrowed and brow drawn low.

Neliel's beside Shinji, the only other one who seems perfectly calm. She's smiling even, dressed casual and almost cute, sword at her side. She's also an adult right now, and Ichigo hopes she stays that way. He doesn't want to worry about her in her child form, though he's quite certain that Shinji will take it upon himself to protect his girlfriend – fiancé.

Sousuke – and yes, Ichigo has decided it's about time he calls him that – is here. A little away from everyone but closest to Shinji. He doesn't have a zanpakutou to call his own, but someone's provided him a sword. He won't be completely helpless, just mostly. That's a small comfort.

They are all here. Ichigo's strike force against Seireitei. He supposes he ought to say something, since they've decided he's to be their leader, but Ichigo's never been one for inspiring speeches. He doesn't have the first clue where to begin. He's never had this problem before. Usually, the fight came to him.

"It's dawn," Ichigo begins, heading toward the gate, feeling every eye on him. It's a little unsettling but also calming.

It feels a bit like stepping onto the battlefield again, and that at least Ichigo is familiar with. He'd fought in Aizen's war. He remembers that feeling. That calm before the storm.

"We need to pin down the Gotei 13 first. Don't worry about the lower seats. Just take out the captains and vice-captains," Ichigo adds. If he can help it, he doesn't want anyone to die. "That'll be our distraction. I'll get the key." And Sousuke, but that's pretty much implied. "And if I'm lucky, I can sit on that throne before the real battle begins."

In other words, it's a race against the clock.

It also sounds like a suicide mission. Seven of them against the might of the Gotei 13. Ichigo and Sousuke against the Royal Guard with only Kisuke's inventions to help clear the way. The enormity of what they are trying to accomplish settles heavy and unyielding on Ichigo's shoulders.

If anyone has a protest to his plan, they don't speak it.

Kisuke steps forward, looking half-nervous, half-worried out of his mind. He's carrying three identical devices, ones so small that Ichigo can't immediately identify them.

"I put these together last night," he explains as he hands them over. "There was only enough time for three."

Ichigo looks down at the pieces of black plastic. Closer inspection reveals them to resemble an ear piece, like the kind made for cell phones, with a button on the side. Some sort of communication device, he supposes, though he can't see how they'd work. There's hardly any room in them for batteries.

"They're powered by reiatsu," Kisuke inserts as though reading Ichigo's mind. "And they'll work in Soul Society. Which is the point."

Ichigo's brows lift toward his hairline. How incredibly useful. On the off chance they need to split up, this is the best way to communicate. Certainly faster than message by Hell Butterfly.

"Thanks." He puts one around his ear and tucks the other two into the only pocket he has left.

Grey eyes slant to the side, as though Kisuke is carefully considering his words. His response is too soft for anyone else to catch.

"Come back," he murmurs. " _Please_."

Ichigo nods, unwilling to say anything back, feeling a near-dozen pairs of eyes watching their interaction closely. Knowing that Sousuke watches as well. Knowing that Ichigo himself isn't sure what the hell he wants anymore.

"Dying isn't part of the plan," he replies and takes a step away, creating a practical distance. Then, Hachi comes into view, shifting uncomfortably as though he believes he's interrupted something private and touching.

"The gate's ready," the large man states, the rocky ground crackling under his feet. "Whenever you are."

Now is as good a time as any, Ichigo supposes. What have they to wait for?

He inclines his head. "What kind of window are we looking at?"

Kisuke answers this time with only a small hesitation on his part.

"Seven minutes," he answers, and the tiniest of smiles curls his lip. "Far more than I was able to give you the last time."

If Ichigo wasn't so tense, he'd laugh at that. The memory of years past when they'd had to run helter-skelter through the gate and hope they'd make it to the other side on time, all of them following a black cat that could talk and none of them with shunpo. Back then, the line between good and evil had been so simple, so obvious. Not anymore. Not since Aizen stomped all over that line and kicked the Shinigami away from straddling the fence.

"It's more than long enough," Sousuke says, and there's almost appreciation in his tone, though Ichigo wouldn't dare call it gratitude.

Kisuke looks surprised by the near-compliment. But he doesn't offer a snappish retort like he usually would.

Ichigo would be shocked, too, but he doesn't have the energy to spare for it right now. That Kisuke and Sousuke are finally restraining themselves is something to ponder, but later, when Ichigo isn't so tense and geared for upcoming battle.

"No one should be able to detect your arrival either," Hachi adds, his eyes darting between Kisuke and Sousuke pointedly. "At least, not for several minutes. Which should give you some element of surprise."

Even the littlest bit would be helpful.

"Thanks." Ichigo inhales slowly. There's nothing left to do but go for it. "Is everyone ready?" he asks, turning to let his gaze sift over his allies.

A mere nine – counting himself – against more than two dozen strong Shinigami plus an innumerable force of lower seats. It's almost enough to make him rethink this whole escapade, save that last time Ichigo had invaded Seireitei, he'd been much weaker and even less prepared.

That realization is a small comfort.

"How 'bout a speech?" Shinji asks, sounding half-mischievous and half-serious. "Something to inspire us."

Ichigo snorts. "Fight hard. Don't die."

There's a moment of stunned silence before Love chuckles and Rose shakes his head.

"Wow, I feel ready to take on the world now," he drawls.

"Bring 'em on," Hiyori adds for good measure, the trembling in her frame one of battle-ready anticipation.

Shrugging, Ichigo turns back toward the gate, staring into the flickering depths of it. "That's all I can ask. Don't die. I'm tired of grieving."

And a lot of other things, too. Which is the whole point of this merry jaunt into Soul Society, isn't it?

Shinji claps. One of those dainty and annoying polite ones, his lips stretched wide in a grin.

"It's good enough fer me," he allows and makes an exaggerated bow, gesturing toward the gate. "After you, Ichigo. We're right behind ya."

It shouldn't be so encouraging, but it is. They _are_ right behind him and beside him and with him. He's not doing this alone, though sometimes he thinks it, and Ichigo squares his shoulders. His gaze flickers from the gate to Kisuke and back again, thoughts lingering on the hope and the worry he catches in shadowed eyes, and then, Ichigo heads toward the gate.

Slow at first, like he has all the time in the world, more a stroll. But as he feels Zangetsu pulse, and the answering echoes of his companions, his stroll becomes a jog and then an all out run. He hurtles toward the gleaming ripple and hears the sound of his friends following along behind him.

o0o0o

The journey is different than before. They arrive, rather than land, stepping out onto the broad expanse of the Soukyoku Hill with nary a stumble. Ichigo's the first to slip free of the dangai, his shoes crunching over the barren hilltop as a fierce wind whips at his face and clothing. He can hear the others arriving behind him, some clumsier than others, but they are all here. Every last one.

The sun is rising, always a few steps behind that of the living world it seems, cascading the horizon in sheets of red and orange and gold. Seireitei is a slowly waking beast, quiet and serene but with claws sheathed.

Ichigo's hand moves to Zangetsu, drawing in anticipation of a fight, even as he moves to the edge of the hill and looks down at Seireitei spread out before him. Up here it looks peaceful. Idyllic even. The white walls and white buildings making it appear as if nothing is amiss, as though the people within are as pure as their surroundings.

His reiatsu flickers, slowly unfurling from his body. Someone will sense it, Ichigo is sure, but he's ready for that. Ready for _this_.

There's the sound of footsteps over gravel. "Ichigo?"

He doesn't have to look to know that it's Shinji. He shakes his head and turns away from the edge.

"Nothing," he says, and his eyes roam over his gathered force, most of whom already have their zanpakutou drawn and ready. Sousuke lingers at the back of the crowd, watching with an unfathomable expression.

Ichigo opens his mouth, prepares to tell them to split up, go after their targets, when the sound of an explosion causes him to whirl back toward the edge. His jaw drops as a cloud of dust and debris rises where the eighth division is, if Ichigo remembers correctly.

What the hell...?

That's when he notices it. The subtle but powerful buzz of reiatsu in the air. It's tangled, almost tangible, like Ichigo could taste it. There's so much of it, not just any one Shinigami either, but as though an entire force of them are releasing their shikai at any given moment. It hangs in the air, dances down Ichigo's spine, makes Zangetsu thrum in anticipation.

"What is that?" Neliel asks, stepping up beside him. Her soft eyes track the plume of smoke.

Ichigo shakes his head. "I don't know." His thumb traces over Zangetsu's hilt. "But it's as good a place to start as any." He half-turns toward his motley assortment of fighters. "Aizen?"

Stepping into sight, where he'd been hovering on the edges, Sousuke comes into view. He looks a twinge uncomfortable, which is probably due to the atmosphere of heady reiatsu.

"Yes?"

"The key?"

Instantly, all eyes swivel toward Sousuke, who doesn't look the least bit intimidated. He inclines his head.

"My contact will find us shortly."

Good enough. Ichigo turns his attention back toward Seireitei, just as another explosion rocks the eerie stillness, this time coming from the direction of the Central 46 compound. A fireball careens toward the sky and something glitters, like light reflecting off a shattered mirror. Ichigo's skin prickles; Shirosaki cackles with mad glee, eager to join the fight.

" _It's been so long_ _, aibou_ ," he whines, and Ichigo can half-imagine those black-tipped fingers reaching for the fight.

"Aizen. Shinji. Nel. You're with me," Ichigo says, long dormant battle instincts unfurling within him. He pulls out the communicators Kisuke had given him, handing one to Lisa and the other to Goat-Face. "Love. Rose. Isshin. Find out what's attacking the eighth division. Lisa and Hiyori-"

Spurts of reiatsu cut off Ichigo's instructions, and a series of smaller explosions ring through the second division, more like buildings had collapsed than anything else. It's like someone has started the invasion without him, though Ichigo can't imagine who it would be. Sousuke had hinted that they might have allies within the Gotei 13 but hadn't named any names. Besides, how would said allies know that they were planning this day to attack?

"-see what's going on at Chamber 46," Ichigo finishes, a bit unsure if splitting up is the right thing to do. Or going after the explosions for that matter. "We'll head to the second."

Shinji grins, clapping Ichigo on the shoulder companionably. As though they are all off to play rather than battle for their lives and their future.

"A good plan, Ichigo. We'll make a tactician of you yet."

Ichigo can't be sure if Shinji means it for a compliment or a tease. Either way, he doesn't have time to stand here and debate. The explosions are perhaps a lucky distraction, but still, someone's going to sense their arrival soon enough. Ichigo would rather be long gone before someone decides to investigate. The Shinigami have never been that good at thinking on their feet.

"Much better than you anyway," Hiyori retorts with a smirk, to which Shinji replies with a wounded look.

Ichigo half-expects one of their childish quarrels to break out, but instead, Hiyori and Lisa choose that moment to throw a salute at Ichigo and launch into shunpo. He watches as they leap into the sky and race off.

"And now we're leaving, too," Rose says, flicking his hair over his shoulder. "Come on, Kurosaki. Let's make your son proud."

Isshin looks like he wants to protest, but his head jerks into a sharp nod, and they – along with Love – take off opposite from the two women. That only leaves Ichigo, Sousuke, Shinji, and Neliel.

"Come on, Sou-chan," Shinji says cheerily, hooking an arm through Sousuke's and dragging the former overlord against his side. "Ya can shunpo with me."

"Joy," Sousuke drawls but allows the contact.

Neliel chuckles, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Are you going to protect him, too?"

"I'll be his personal bodyguard," Shinji announces, probably to mortify Sousuke as much as he possibly can. Which often makes Ichigo wonder if Shinji's actually on Sousuke's side as much as everyone thinks he is.

Ichigo bites back a sigh. "Let's go."

He steps off the cliff, briefly enjoying the free-fall before he slides into shunpo, setting his sights on the second division. Several more explosions light up the morning, throwing rock and wood into the air. Ichigo's eyes narrow, noticing black-clad shapes flitting through the streets. Likely the Onmitsukidoh, who are most definitely _not_ on Ichigo's side.

That's when Ichigo feels the brush of familiar reiatsu, almost as though its bearer knows he's here. He draws to an abrupt halt, midair, and focuses on the teasing familiarity. It's been years since he's spoken with her, but he can still recognize Yoruichi-san's quietly buzzing reiatsu. What the hell is she doing?

It's easy enough to follow her energy down to where Yoruichi-san is perched on a roof, gazing down at the smoking second division, the movement of black-clad figures less and less. She has her back to them when Ichigo touches shoes to shingles but turns as they land. She's rather unsurprised at their arrival.

"Wondered when you'd get here," Yoruichi-san comments, her golden eyes sparkling with humor as she looks from Ichigo to the members of his team. "Shinji, always a pleasure. Neliel, nice to see you as an adult this time."

She doesn't greet Sousuke. Instead, her gaze hardens as she lands on the former overlord before it skips back to Ichigo.

"It's about time you joined our little insurrection."

Ichigo blinks. "Insurrection?"

A suspicion is born at the back of his mind, and it has something to do with the broadly grinning blond behind him.

Yoruichi gestures. Her arms sweep outward as though including every bit of destruction running rampant through Seireitei.

"Some of us thought it was time we stopped reacting and started _acting_ ," she says with a sage nod. "And thanks to Shinji over there, we knew exactly where to start."

Shinji.

Ichigo's eyes narrow as he whirls toward the blond, whose face has reddened from the exertion of holding in his amusement. His gaze, however, seems to break Shinji's composure as he bursts into laughter, all too pleased with himself. His amusement shatters Ichigo's own restraint as he stomps across the few feet separating them and soundly punches Shinji in the shoulder.

"Ow!" the blond Vizard gripes and straightens with a hiss. "What th' hell was that fer?"

"What have I said about secrets?" Ichigo demands, more frustrated than furious and feeling a tad bit hurt as well.

Shinji probably thinks this is some kind of funny game, but Ichigo isn't amused. He could have saved himself a lot of stress if he'd known about this little rebellion.

Neliel sighs. "I told you so," she comments and doesn't display an ounce of sympathy for Shinji's pain.

"Yoruichi didn't tell him either," Shinji mutters.

"I haven't had any contact with Ichigo in months," Yoruichi counters, wagging her finger at him. "So don't blame your pain on me. I've no interest in sharing your punishment."

" _Ichigo?"_

The earpiece chirruped to life, and Ichigo winces, head cocked as he focuses on the stream of conversation and background noise that blares in his ear. He reaches up, pressing the button, remarking that the communicator is remarkably like a walkie-talkie.

" _What?"_ he demands.

It's Isshin who answers. _"We're here at what's left of the eighth division."_

What's left?

" _And?"_

" _It's completely encased in ice_ ," Goat-Face explains, and there's a notable pause in his speech before he continues in a tight voice. _"Your sister is here."_

Ichigo blinks, face twisting with disbelief. _"Repeat that_ ," he demands, a bit harsher than he needs to with Shinji, Nel, and Sousuke all looking at him in surprise. Yoruichi, however, just looks smug and amused.

" _Karin is here. Fighting alongside that damned boy of hers_ ," Isshin repeats, and his voice comes out a hiss, a sign of silent seething. Like he can't wait to get his hands on Toushirou and wring his scrawny neck.

Feeling an odd and random urge to pinch his nose, Ichigo exhales.

" _No strangling Toushirou,"_ he replies, and that's when Shinji and Nel erupt into snickers, Yoruichi's grin blossoming with her own amusement. " _He's more valuable than you are_."

On the other end, Isshin squawks with indignation. Though he must know that Ichigo is teasing. Mostly.

" _Son_ ," Isshin begins warningly, only to pause, take a deep breath, and seem to change his mind. " _Ukitake's here, too. Seems like we're late to the party."_

Good news. Ichigo resists the urge to glare at Shinji again. Some of this information could've been useful in preventing Ichigo's many anxious nights about invading Soul Society.

" _Figures,"_ Lisa cuts in, joining the conversation with a disappointed sniff. _"You get to see him in action, and I'm stuck watching the one-eyed crazy laugh as he tears down what's left of Chamber 46."_

Ichigo's brow crinkles. _"Kenpachi?"_ he hazards a guess. Though honestly, how many _other_ one-eyed crazies are there in Soul Society.

" _Kuchiki, too_ ," Lisa confirms, her voice betraying her admiration. " _I haven't seen him this ruthless since he took down Ichimaru_."

" _I see_ ," Ichigo says, and he eyes Yoruichi, who looks far too self-satisfied for Ichigo's sanity. " _I guess you two ought to help them clean out the resistance. Since there's little else for us to do_."

Lisa laughs into the communicator. " _Roger that_."

" _If you insist_."

Both Lisa and Isshin cut off their transmission, leaving Ichigo free to pin Yoruichi with a firm look.

"So..." he says casually, pretending he can't hear Shinji snickering behind him. "Got anyone _else_ involved in your little insurrection?"

Yoruichi thumbs her chin, rolling her eyes skyward. "Well, if you haven't noticed by now, the third is up in flames. That'd be the work of Kira and Hisagi." Behind her, something explodes, but she doesn't seem to notice or feel bothered about it. "The thirteenth should be taking a good beating from Ayasegawa and Kuchiki the younger right about now. And Matsumoto and Ise are currently rampaging through the fifth"

"Correction: we finished rampaging and have decided to meet up with the main force," a voice inserts from behind Ichigo and his group. He whirls to see Matsumoto and Ise-san standing behind him, looking a little signed and bruised but otherwise none the worse for wear.

A streak of soot on her cheek and yet Matsumoto-san still manages to grin cheerfully and wiggle her fingers in an excited wave. "Been a while, Kurosaki-kun. Taichou sure missed you."

Somehow, Ichigo doesn't think that Toushirou will appreciate Matsumoto sharing such information.

"Nice to see you, too," he returns.

His gaze shifts to Ise-san, who has actually approached Sousuke, and even now, the two of them are trading glances. As though weighing and measuring one another by sight alone.

It's not quite like two former enemies encountering one another. No, this is something different. Something Ichigo can't quite name. Almost as though they had been friends once but more than that. Lovers perhaps. Though that breaks his brain in a way he can't quite define. It makes sense, if he thinks hard about it, but frankly, Ichigo doesn't want to.

And if there's a small part of him that is abruptly seething with jealousy… well, Ichigo isn't going to admit that either.

"You're looking well, Nanao." Sousuke takes her hand in his, a polite gesture that lingers longer than Ichigo would've liked.

Her lips curl into a smirk, a far cry from the contained expression she had borne the last time Ichigo saw her. "Wish I could say the same for you," she replies, and something in her gaze turns harsh and calculating. "Taichou would've approved of the changes."

Emotions flicker across Sousuke's face – guilt and regret most prominent among them – before they are quickly shuttered away again.

"One can only hope," Sousuke murmurs, voice quieter than before. "I believe you have something for me?"

"Straight to business, I see," Nanao says and reaches for the book that is always tucked at her side, holding it with one palm to flip it open. "I should've expected nothing less." Her fingers pluck something old and rusted from the pages, which she then holds out.

He doesn't reach for it immediately. Not when her eyes narrow and her voice hardens with warning.

"Don't make me regret this, Sousuke."

The brunet inclines his head and then steps aside. He gestures briefly to Ichigo, who's watching the entire exchange with intense scrutiny.

"The key is not meant for me."

"Of course it isn't," Ise-san murmurs, and she turns to Ichigo.

He finally forces himself to move, crossing the short distance between them until he can see the small, rusted key laying on her palm. It certainly doesn't look grand. It's the size of a regular house key, rust flecking from the four planes of it. There's a hole in the bow, oblong with an arched tip, and there are three teeth on the blade. They are rectangular in shape, the two outer teeth twice as long as the one in the middle. More importantly, however, is the subtle pulse of tangible reiatsu that resonates from it.

Ichigo reaches out, and a light shock zaps his fingers. It's not enough to deter him, however, and when he plucks the key from Ise-san's palm, it buzzes faintly in his hold. More like a purr, a quiet roll of reiatsu that washes over his hand and resonates with his own and the pulse of power within his chest.

He can only hope that's the intended effect.

He closes his fingers around the key and lowers his arm to his side. Ise-san inclines her head in acceptance of him and then glances past Ichigo to Yoruichi-san.

"Ayasegawa requires some assistance cleaning out the thirteenth, if you have need of me," she says and vanishes in a flit of shunpo, obviously considering her task complete.

"She has a point," Yoruichi muses aloud, grabbing Ichigo's attention once again, only to find that she was making shooing motions at the four of them. "I've got a coup to finish, and you all have somewhere else to be right now, yes? So get on with you."

Shinji chuckles. "Only because ya insist." He slings an arm over Neliel's shoulders and pulls his fiancée in close. "Though a little direction would be nice. Sou-chan?"

"The first division." Sousuke appears to shake himself out of a stupor as his frown melts into impassivity once again. "The entrance to the path can be found there."

There's nothing left to do but follow. Yoruichi cheerfully waves at their departure before leaving in a flit of shunpo herself. This time, Ichigo's the one who takes Sousuke in arm, so that the brunet doesn't get left behind.

High above Seireitei, the destruction looks even more prominent. Plumes of smoke rising from all directions, the eighth division gleaming from under a coating of ice, spikes of reiatsu tangible in the air. A part of Ichigo is disappointed that there's been no great battle, that he hasn't even found need to draw Zangetsu yet. He'd been so keyed for a vicious fight, and now, all the work has been done for him.

Yet, they still saved the most difficult part for Ichigo.

o0o0o

When they arrive at the first division, two Shinigami are waiting for them in the courtyard. They drop down onto cracked stone, and Ichigo isn't surprised at who's waiting for them. They must have received word from Yoruichi-san. Either that, or they already suspected what Ichigo's next destination would be.

The sight of Unohana-san and Jyuushiro gives Ichigo pause. Mostly because of the latter, who makes Ichigo's insides roil with uncertainty, a half-dozen memories unfurling within him. He has mixed feelings about Jyuushiro, not all of them unpleasant. At least he has only gratitude toward Unohana-san for saving his life.

She's the first to speak. Her eyes are warm as she glances between Ichigo and Sousuke then past them to their two companions.

"Greetings, Kurosaki-kun," she says, her chin tilted with pride. "You've fully recovered, I see."

She addresses him first, but her gaze keeps drifting back to Sousuke. Somehow, Ichigo isn't surprised.

"I have," Ichigo replies and shifts awkwardly. Gratitude has never come easy for him, and somehow, Unohana-san always makes him feel like a child. Like a little boy playing dress-up. "I never got a chance to thank you before either. So... yeah. Thanks."

Her lips curve into a fond smile. "You did not deserve what they had planned for you," she answers softly and adds a sidelong look at her companion. "I was merely correcting another's cowardice."

A touch of red stains Jyuushiro's cheeks. "For which I owe you an enormous apology. We all do."

He starts to bow or perhaps go even lower, but Ichigo shakes his head. As much as he'd like that, they don't have time for it right now. It'd take more than a hastily executed conversation in the middle of a battlefield to rebuild the burnt bridges between them.

"Later," he says, hoping that there is going to _be_ a later. "Right now, we've got to find the entrance to the royal palace."

"Then you're in the right place," Jyuushiro allows, looking understandably relieved. "The records I've found indicate that it's here. Somewhere."

"It's in the secondary courtyard," Sousuke inserts, speaking up from Ichigo's side. He shares a warm look with Unohana-san, and there are volumes of conversation that need to pass there, but now isn't the time.

Jyuushiro blinks. "No one's used it in centuries. It's been abandoned."

"What better place ta hide a secret then?" Shinji pipes up. One hand flicks through the air. "Lead the way, Jyuu. We've got a throne ta take."

"If we can get by the royal guard, that is," Neliel comments as Jyuushiro turns and they fall into step behind him.

Jyuushiro tosses a glance over his shoulder. His expression is a mixture of resignation and hesitation.

"They no longer exist," he says quietly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "And the king is only a memory."

" _What_?" Ichigo demands. His shock is surpassed only by that echoing from his companions.

To be fair, they had all suspected that the guard wouldn't be an issue. But for the king to be gone as well... that hadn't been anticipated.

Jyuushiro sighs, leading them down one empty corridor and into another. The light is dimmer and obviously the path less traveled.

"It's been that way for decades, though I'm not sure exactly when they ceased to control Soul Society. Genryuusai-sensei's notes are vague and mostly incomprehensible."

"That's..." Sousuke shakes his head and frowns intently. "It is an impossibility. There must be some king. The imbalance would otherwise destroy everything."

Pausing at the end of a corridor, where a wooden door is locked and bolted, Jyuushiro looks at Ichigo's team and Unohana-san with something akin to sadness. He looks tired. Old. Older than he should. Older than he did during the war. Wrinkles line his mouth and eyes where none had been before, and were his hair not already white, Ichigo guess that it'd be turning that way.

"Not immediately," Jyuushiro says, voice impossibly soft and sad. "Over time, yes, the stability has fractured." He glances at Sousuke. "There are even a few among us who wonder if the war was only a product of that instability."

Stunned silence meets Jyuushiro's words as he turns to fiddle with the doors. Even Sousuke looks surprised. Ichigo himself is unsure what to think. He doesn't know what drove Isshin to abandon the guard and Soul Society. He doesn't know what could've happened in that frame of time. He doesn't know if he can so easily link the pain of the past to that one singular point.

"Are ya sayin' that our lack of a king caused _everything_?" Shinji demands as the huge door creaks open, dust puffing out and pale light spilling into the dim corridor where they stand.

Jyuushiro pushes the door all the way open and allows them to pass by him and into the courtyard. "Are you telling me you didn't notice the sudden surge in Hollow attacks?" he asks. "And how few Shinigami-empowered spirits were becoming available? How many pluses were reverting to Hollow, too quick for us to purify? How weak we, as Shinigami, had become?"

It's starting to make a horrifying sort of sense to Ichigo. And he's not the only one.

"The world has only been waiting for a king," Sousuke murmurs with sudden understanding, brown eyes focusing on Ichigo. " _We_ need one to exist."

"We do," Jyuushiro confirms with a tilt of his head and then gestures to the open doorway. "I'll wait here in case there are complications. We _all_ await your success."

He's carrying nothing, but Ichigo's shoulders feel heavy nonetheless. Shinji prods him forward, and they step into pale sunlight and a courtyard that better resembles a garden, albeit a dead one. The cobbled walk is littered with dried leaves and branches, the bushes and trees twisted with dehydration, and in the middle, there's a stone fountain that's long gone dry, the pale stone coated with dirt and dust of ages.

Sousuke passes them all, striding without hesitation toward the fountain. He crouches in front of the face of it, palm swiping over one of the images on the front. Fingernails scrape at a depression, revealing a keyhole, one with four projections. It's a perfect match to the key in Ichigo's hand.

"That's it?" Neliel questions as Ichigo approaches, a part of him inexplicably nervous beyond mention.

Sousuke nods. "This is only the first step. The true entrance is below."

Part of Ichigo relaxes. The test isn't upon him. He can save his freak-out for later.

He kneels. "Here goes nothing," Ichigo mutters and shoves the key into the lock.

It's made of stone, so turning it does no good. But the pulse of reiatsu that suddenly pushes outward seems to be all that's needed.

He gasps, feeling the power pulled from within him, and stumbles backward. The key comes out with him as he lands on his backside, but there's no time to worry because the ground starts to rumble with an awful noise of rock grating on rock. Ichigo watches as the stone of the fountain appears to fold in on itself, the rim folding outward and the bowl of it sliding to the side. Only to reveal a gaping opening that's large enough for two people to walk next to each other. The spiraling center of the fountain splits down the middle, and swings open as though it were a door, giving them more space.

Hauling himself to his feet, Ichigo watches as a set of stairs appear, only the first few steps visible in the sunlight. Beyond them is a dark abyss, leading to Sousuke only knew where. Somehow to heaven. Or what's left of it.

"After you," Shinji graciously allows, looking pointedly at Ichigo.

He exhales. "Guess I'll be the first to dive into darkness then."

Ichigo closes his fingers around the key and the takes the first step. The stairs are stone and quite solid beneath him, a small consolation. He steps down, squinting into approaching darkness, his left hand finding a wall and holding on. He's being particularly careful, unwilling to find out how long the stairs are by falling down them.

Footsteps echo behind him as Shinji, Neliel, Unohana-san, and Sousuke follow him down. Ichigo's pace slows as he steps completely into darkness, and his eyes are forced to adjust. The corona of sunlight becomes more distant, but it's not completely black here either. There's an odd, subtle glow beneath Ichigo, like bio-luminescence or something similar. It's a soft green-white color, and Ichigo heads toward it, unable to see anything else.

No conversation passes between them. Ichigo can only hear the sound of their breathing, their footsteps, and something else. The continuous dripping of water perhaps. The air here is fresher than he could've expected, and a scent lingers in the air that's all too much like flowers.

Ichigo is struck with the oddest sense of deja vu.

The stairs start to curve towards his right though the wall remains. His eyes are starting to adjust, and the cavern begins to take shape, a stone path spiraling down and ending at a platform. The flat ground ripples and moves, not stone then but water. An underground lake?

Platforms of rock hopscotch across the surface, a more or less straight path to something in the middle. A circular rise of stone. There's a pale fall of light directly over the dais, illuminating an empty space. It's the only destination in sight, so Ichigo heads for it.

Shinji's mumbling something behind him, but Ichigo isn't paying attention. His heart is beating too loud in his chest, and the key is humming in his fingers. Pulsing with odd warmth. He feels strangely breathless, and it has nothing to do with the exertion of descending into this dank cavern.

His feet hit stone at the bottom of the stairs, and Ichigo hesitates as he stares across rippling water, the lily pad-like rocks only large enough for them to cross one at a time. The King's Key has grown hotter, uncomfortable but not burning. He doesn't know if that's an encouragement, or if it means he's the wrong one to be doing this.

Across the way, there's a flicker of movement on the circular platform. A wavering image of auburn and peach and ivory. A pulsing warmth of something familiar.

Ichigo's heart leaps into his throat. "... Mom?"

"Ichigo?"

Neliel sounds worried. He ignores her, stepping onto the rock pads without hesitation now, crossing effortlessly from one to the next. The image on the platform wavers, solidifying briefly before becoming translucent and ghost-like once again. Ichigo is quite certain he's losing his mind. But no matter how much he blinks and stares, the image still resembles his mother.

He crosses the lake quickly, climbs the three short stairs to the circular platform, and stands on the edge of the corona of light. The closer he gets, the more she solidifies, colors sharpening, features distinct and recognizable. In his hand, the burning of the key is almost unbearable, but his fingers are locked around it. He couldn't drop it if he wanted to.

Ichigo doesn't know if the others followed him or not. He only has eyes for the sight of his mother, standing in the middle of the light. She's smiling, looking like she hasn't aged a day.

She reaches out for him, and Ichigo doesn't hesitate. He ought to, considering the last time it'd been an illusion of Grand Fisher's, but this moment feels too right to be a lie.

There's a pulse of power that echoes inside of him and through him that seems to match the resonating purr of the key in his hand. Ichigo reaches, crossing the mere foot between them. Behind him, someone shouts. He doesn't know if it was Shinji or Sousuke. He can't hear the words, just the intent.

His mother's still smiling, hand held out, waiting for him, always so patient.

Their fingers touch.

And Ichigo's world bleeds white.


	38. Interlude Seven: End of the Beginning

Kisuke doesn't sleep that night. The one before everyone leaves to battle for their lives and their futures without him. He won't be going. He'll be staying behind in relative safety and luxury. He'll be with friends.

He'll be losing his mind. He'll be wondering and worrying and waiting for Ichigo to come back.

He isn't waiting for forgiveness though. Kisuke knows he doesn't deserve it. He's a bad man; he understands that. He killed and tortured and imprisoned with only the excuse that he was following orders. That it wasn't out of malice but duty and then later for science.

Kisuke isn't a good person. He's never really been. He's been selfish and callous if not outwardly and intentionally cruel. He's lied and manipulated as much as Aizen if not as skillfully. The only difference is that he did it on Seireitei's time and their dime and was rewarded for things that should've had him executed in a sensible world.

But he wasn't, and he was never brave enough to end it himself. To wrap the Hougyoku in his own soul and then hasten himself onto his next life to protect it.

It was an option. He could've done it – should've done it. But Kisuke wasn't willing to sacrifice his own life like he sacrificed so many others.

He's not good enough for Ichigo. Never will be. Can't even approach the idea of him.

He was never good enough for Yoruichi either. Never noble enough or rich enough. Powerful enough. Bold enough. Enticing enough.

He was never enough or too much. Too smart. Too nerdy. Too cluttered. Too clumsy. Too much like himself. Too much like the bastard child he is in truth.

He could never make her look at him. See him. Never make her head turn to glance over her shoulder. Kisuke was always in her shadow. One step behind and to the side. Lingering in the darkness as she poured out light and pleasure with everyone but him. Hanging at the sidelines with Soifon, who had hated him so much for being in the same position as her, and waiting for that one scrap of attention.

As much as it hurts, as much as he cried when no one could see him, the fact that Yoruichi left was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. He couldn't follow her anymore. Couldn't wallow. Could finally open his eyes and see what had been staring him in the face for years.

Ichigo's all that Yoruichi is and all she'll never be.

He's not good enough for Ichigo either. Kisuke doesn't care.

He wants him. Loves him. Would give him everything he's always closely guarded. His heart and his life and his soul.

But not his secrets.

He can't. He's too afraid.

Of what Ichigo will think. Of what he'll know about the man who once shared his bed and his body. That he'll know the hands that were so gentle and passionate with him weren't even kind to others. That they're blood-stained and calloused with the lives of dozens if not hundreds of innocents and that Kisuke never even thought to care until he meet Ichigo.

It'd never occurred to him before then that he'd even done anything wrong. But now, he knows, and Kisuke can't forget. He can't unsee their faces in his sleep. Can't forget all the horrors he unwittingly but willingly committed.

But even more than that, he can't forget Ichigo's smile. His laugh. His taste. His eyes as he climaxes. His face as he sleeps. The feel of their reiatsu intertwining and curling around them as they lie together.

Kisuke can't forget any of that. He doesn't even want to. He clings to it like a lifeline. Like a promise that he has no right to demand and Ichigo should never give.

It's all that he has now. He has nothing left.

Just his life. And it really isn't worth that much. It's never been. Not even when he was a small boy wondering why the nobles snubbed him.

It's all he has left to give. The only thing of real value he carries.

But he honestly thinks that Ichigo won't want it.

Kisuke doesn't blame him.

o0o0o

The worst mistake Kuchiki Rukia ever makes wasn't on the night Kaien-dono died or even getting him killed in the first place. It isn't allowing herself to be adopted by the Kuchiki and leaving Renji behind. It isn't even being defeated by a pathetically weak Hollow and then giving her powers to a human.

It's made on a chilly but beautiful day in Karakura as her breath fogs in front of her. She and Ichigo sit on the roof of his house as dawn chases away the last vestiges of the night. The cocoa in her mug has long gone cold, but she toys with the cup and leans her shoulder against Ichigo's arm.

Then, she asks for one thing – a single favor – that damns not just him but her, too. She asks him for the thing she never should, and later, when the world is crumbling down around her, Rukia understands why.

She should've sat there. She should've said nothing.

But she doesn't. She asks for his help. For him to keep being her friend. For him to keep fighting when he shouldn't.

He was just as boy then. He's not now. Not anymore.

He was a boy, a silly human boy who could see ghosts, and Rukia had turned him not only into a Shinigami but into something that sometimes was all too much like a killing machine. Something all too much like a Hollow.

A Vizard.

It wasn't obvious in the beginning. Even when she saw his mask and her only thoughts were worry for him and not fear. But it grew as time went on and the war deepened, and Ichigo kept growing stronger and stronger still. Until he could go days fighting and barely even be breathing hard and then still have lessons in reiatsu-control afterwards without missing a beat. Until he could defeat multiple captains at the same time with both hands tied behind his back and perform shunpo better and faster than Yoruichi-san and Soifon combined.

But then… then, Renji died. He died, and Rukia couldn't do anything about it. She could only sit numbly next to his body – what was left of it, _him_ – as her brother squeezed her hand until his knuckles were white. Could only watch as they burned him to nothing that night and her brother scattered his ashes throughout the sixth division and Rukongai.

She thinks that's when things really changed. Not when Ichigo turned to Ukitake-taichou and Kyouraku-taichou for comfort and reassurance but not her. Not when he cried at killing Ulquiorra. Not he just stared out at Seireitei and looked like a stranger then entire time.

That's when things unraveled. That's when Ichigo went from her closest friend to a guilt-stricken mess who buried his face in Urahara's shoulder after a battle but didn't shed a tear. That's when Rukia herself looked at her friends – Inoue and Sado and Ishida – and realized how fragile they were, how human. How _young_.

That's when Rukia saw it. When she watched Ichigo go from a young man in a fight to protect his family to a war veteran with cold and calculating eyes. But he covered it up so well that Rukia honestly thought she imagined it. She hadn't though, and it became more obvious as time crept on. As she saw him kill in a way that had sent him shaking for hours afterwards, but now, he did it easily. Thoughtlessly. Carelessly even.

That's when Rukia didn't know him anymore. Realized that maybe she never had.

But then, the war ended, and Aizen was defeated, and Rukia could finally breathe again. She drifted from them then, her human friends. It was better that she did. That they got on with their lives and she got on with hers.

Or maybe she was just too afraid she'd see what she'd wrought. What her weakness had done to them. To these innocents she'd unwittingly dragged into a war not of their making. Maybe she didn't want to see that gleam in Ichigo's eyes anymore. The look that said he didn't relish killing but was good at it and would do anything necessary to win.

The following years were harder than she'd thought they'd be. She had friends but not close ones, and being a lieutenant was far less satisfying than it should've been. Most of her time was spent doing everything her captain felt was personally beneath her and trying to keep order in a division used to Kyouraku-taichou's benevolent ways.

That's not even considering all the other undercurrents in Seireitei. The whispers and muffled laughter and general air of unease that permeated everything. She'd gone to the living world just to breathe. To see her old friends. To make sure they were safe and happy. To apologize for ruining their lives.

But like everything else, it wasn't a smooth trip. She saw Aizen fucking Sousuke alive and well barely five minutes after she'd gotten there. And he'd been at Ichigo's house. He'd actually talked to Ichigo and simply walked away like it'd been nothing more than a friendly visit.

She hears a roaring in her ears all the way back to Seireitei. All she sees is Aizen with Ichigo. All she thinks is hypnotism and Hollows and that Ichigo looks like he might've actually lost to his.

And then, her captain had the story before Rukia could even process who she'd told, and it'd only gotten worse from there. So much worse. So horrible.

Ichigo staring at her with accusation and apologies falling useless from her mouth. Ichigo sentenced and imprisoned and set to be sent to the Maggot's Nest for the rest of his life.

Rukia cried herself into oblivion that night, under guard by the Onmitsukidoh but not caring. She spent hours throwing up what felt like everything she'd eaten in the last decade. She was still too sick to even realize that dawn had come and she'd left her friend helpless until Chamber 46 demanded her presence the next morning.

The weeks and months following weren't any better. Between her own guilt and Yachiru, Rukia honestly began to wonder if they'd be better off if she went into Rukongai one day and didn't come back. The only thing that kept her in Seireitei was her brother. His solidness at her back when she walked through the streets. The softness of his fingers through her hair when he thought her asleep.

She'd never forgive herself if she left him. If Rukia abandoned him like everyone else in his life had.

There were already far too many things she regretted. Too many people she'd failed.

Kaien-dono. Ichigo. Renji. Herself.

But time goes on. Life goes on. Like they always do.

And Rukia wakes to the realization that it's been nearly half a year since she last saw Ichigo and that the whispers in Seireitei aren't what they were before. They're less fearful now. More defiant.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out the source. Anyone with eyes and a hint of sense can see that Zaraki-taichou is finally fed up and so are so many others. But intelligence has never been Chamber 46's strong point, and Rukia honestly thinks that they have no clue what's going on right in front of their very noses.

But really, nii-sama isn't fooling anyone. She might not be his sister by blood, but she knows him better than anybody currently living and probably loves him more than all the others combined.

She enters his private office at home that night and kneels down in front of him, and for the first time in her life, she doesn't gaze at the floor. Instead, her eyes rise to meet his defiantly.

"I want in," Rukia says before he can form a sentence, and even she's surprised by the steel in her tone.

A flit of emotions flickers in her brother's eyes for a second. Surprise. Denial. Worry. Affection even. But Rukia still catches them all, still sees everything he can never say but feels nonetheless.

Regret. Concern. Maybe even love.

He just looks at her, and she looks at him back. His reiatsu is calm and controlled, but the tilt of his chin and the firmness of his mouth give him away. He doesn't want her involved. He doesn't want her hurt. He wants her safe, to have plausible deniability if it all goes wrong.

And her eyes tell him back that she doesn't care. That she can't be hurt any more than she already has. That even if they lose and she's safe, that it'll be nothing short of torture to be without him and her friends. That she'd rather die than sit on the sidelines and wonder the rest of her life if things would different if she stepped up and spoke out.

If she'd been smart enough to speak to her brother about Ichigo instead of going to someone else. If she'd asked Ichigo himself. If she'd actually made an attempt to stay in touch and in his life. If she'd tried with Inoue and Ishida and Sado. If she hadn't used Renji's death as an excuse to pull back and pull away to make it so she couldn't be hurt again.

But she has. And it was her fault. And she has to make this right. She'll die if she doesn't, and maybe she deserves that.

Rukia knows he sees all of that in her as surely as she sees him. Nii-sama could say that he's proud of her. That she's his sister no matter what. That he's sorry for all that's happened.

He could say all of that. Nii-sama doesn't. He doesn't need to.

"Be ready before dawn" is what he says instead and reaches to pour her tea.

It's strong, bitter. Possibly even laced with alcohol if the slow burn is anything to go by as it slides down her throat to warm her belly. But by the end of this night, they'll both need it.


	39. Catechism

The light slowly seeps away, pulling back as though it has tangible presence and finally giving Ichigo leave to see again. He blinks, hand falling from shielding his eyes, and stares in utter shock.

He's not sure what he expected, but _this_ certainly wasn't it.

The lake and the cave and the platform have all vanished. Instead, he finds himself standing in the middle of a ballroom, albeit one of dust and disrepair. There's no ceiling, save crumbled bits of stone, and the tapestries lining the walls are moth-eaten, the colors faded. Beneath him, the floor is marble, or at least, it might've been once. It's now cracked and dirty.

At the far end of the room, there's a raised dais with several steps. Something sits on the dais, shrouded in fraying coverings, also blanketed with dust. Behind are the remains of a stained glass window, most of the glass missing so that the image is impossible to figure out. It smells old and musty with a lingering hint of incense, though Ichigo can't place the fragrance.

It must've been glorious once upon a time. A beautiful castle of some sorts. It's nothing like that anymore. Just the decaying, abandoned ruins of a great place.

Except... it's not so abandoned.

Someone is standing near the dais, at the base of it, looking his direction. This far away, Ichigo can only see a blur of red and black, and the shape of a man, but he can't make out anything familiar. He doesn't know if he's supposed to or not. He can't feel anything from him either. This place is so dead, so removed from Soul Society, that Ichigo can't tell if the reason there's no aura to the place is because it's in the living world or if it's just that spiritually dead.

There's nothing to do but get closer. Ichigo moves forward, unconsciously reaching for Zangetsu. Only to realize that his zanpakutou is gone. That gives him momentary pause. But he can still feel the old man, and his Hollow is shouting somewhere at the back of his mind. Not to mention the pulsing off-beat of power in his chest. Ichigo isn't defenseless. Besides, he's never been one to hesitate either.

His shoes leave scuff marks in the dirty floor. Behind him, he can see where his steps have raised the dust, revealing glimpses of a polished stone beneath.

And when he gets closer, Ichigo gets his second surprise in just a short few minutes. His heart stutters in his chest, his breath catches, and he thinks he has to be dreaming. Because Renji can't be here. Renji's _dead_.

The man standing in front of him certainly looks like Renji. Red hair in a spiked ponytail. Tattoos. Feral grin. Sunglasses on his forehead. He's not wearing a shihakushou, but that's the only difference.

Ichigo's at a loss for words.

Fortunately, the figment that's Renji seems to share his personality.

"Yo," he says, lifting a hand in a wave. As though this is casual, this is an everyday thing that Ichigo's hallucinating twice-dead people and it's _normal_.

"How are you here?" Ichigo demands and ends up wondering if the key didn't so much open a gate to the palace as it did send Ichigo straight to whatever constitutes an afterlife for Shinigami.

The not-Renji sighs. "I don't even get a greetin'?" he asks with enough of a familiar drawl that something inside of Ichigo clenches and pangs in remembrance. "A guy's dead fer a few years, and ya forget what little manners ya had, brat."

Ichigo bristles for all of a second before the irritation bleeds out of him. "You're really here," he whispers instead.

"Course I am. Where else didja think I'd be?" Renji retorts. "Yes, this is real. No, it's not a dream. At least, not like ya think it is."

He really shouldn't be relying on an apparition to tell him the truth, but honestly, nothing about this day has gone the way Ichigo has expected it. If this is what using the key invites, then Ichigo has no choice but to go along with it. He can't exactly turn back; there's nothing behind him but more ruins and a low-lying fog.

This is real. And Renji is actually here, looking a lot better than the last time Ichigo saw him. Covered in blood, unmoving, sunglasses shattered, Zabimaru in pieces. There are no signs of the mortal wounds that Grimmjow had dealt. Renji doesn't have his sword, but since Ichigo doesn't either, he supposes that's par for the course here.

"Were you waiting for me?" Ichigo questions, some of the surprise and awe bleeding out of him. It leaves behind all the other emotions that Ichigo has since associated with his memories of Renji.

Guilt. Regret. Shame.

Renji lifts his shoulders. "Waitin' for somethin'," he says vaguely. "Couldn't really tell ya what. All of us were." He gestures to the space around them.

Ichigo looks but doesn't see anything. At least, not at first. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he whirls to face it, nothing's there. This happens a couple more times before he realizes that if he stands still and doesn't pay close attention, he can see them. Vague outlines of people, their faces blurred and indistinct, walking around as though they can't see Renji and Ichigo either.

"Who are they?" the Vizard asks, trying to identify the blurred faces but having little luck.

"Echoes. Other Shinigami. Ghosts. I dunno," Renji replies with another shrug, scratching at his chin. "No one knows enough to explain things 'round here. I'm not even sure why I'm standin' here, just that I am."

Ichigo's attention reverts to him. "You're dead."

"Yeah, I am," Renji agrees, and there's no trace of anger in his tone. Or regret. Or fear or anything really. He admits that he's dead like it's something he's long accepted and the fact no longer bothers him. "I'm also here right now. Up ta you ta figure out why."

He gropes for the right answer, but as usual, proper elocution fails him. Renji doesn't know either, but that's okay, Ichigo doesn't have the right questions. He looks at the man standing in front of him, arguably one of his best friends, and all he can see is the moment when Renji fell.

Blood splashing into the air, the same color as loose hair, a bright scarlet halo. The sound of shattering steel, sprinkling to the ground in fine rain. His body falling slowly, as though suspended in time. Grimmjow's triumphant smirk...

Ichigo closes his eyes, trying to chase away the image. He attempts to reconcile it with the sight of his unharmed friend standing before him in reality. It's difficult to chase away the memory, but easier still than looking Renji in the eyes right now.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo finds himself saying, and his throat is thick. "For not killing Grimmjow. You were right. If I had-"

The fist that slams into his cheek comes out of nowhere, and Ichigo staggers a step backward as pain blossoms in his face. He cries out, tasting blood where he'd bitten his tongue, the sharp copper flavor all the more bright for the blandness of his surroundings.

Ichigo cups his jaw, which feels bruised but not broken, and stares dumbly at Renji. Who had just hit him.

"What the hell was that for?" he demands, tongue throbbing, face aching. Renji's just looking at him like he's the dumbest thing this side of the universe.

"Yer still an idiot." Renji casually examines his knuckles before lowering his hand again. His eyes are dark, but he doesn't look angry. More sad than anything. "Ain't nothin' changed fer winnin' the war, did it?"

That doesn't make a damn bit of sense to Ichigo. He rubs his aching jaw and glares at Renji.

"That's not an answer, asshole."

"Quit feeling guilty for shit that ain't yer fault. Ya didn't kill Grimmjow. So what? I had no business going after him." He sighs and shakes his head, some of the tension easing out of his larger frame. "But then, I guess ya wouldn't be you if that changed, huh?"

Ichigo bristles, caught between frustration and gratitude. Curses dance on the tip of his tongue, a longer argument that Renji is wrong. That it _is_ Ichigo's fault only Renji's too stubborn to see it.

"You know, kid," Renji says, as though heedless of Ichigo's growing aggravation. "A long time ago, I asked ya to save someone very important ta me. And ya did it. Even though we were enemies. Back then, you were the one who made me realize what I couldn't do." He shakes his head, face uncharacteristically solemn. "Guess I should've listened to ya."

Working his jaw, still sore, Ichigo sucks in several sharp breaths. He tries to calm his flickering reiatsu and turbulent emotions.

"No," he corrects solemnly. "I was the one who didn't understand what war meant." He pauses, shoulders feeling heavy. "I get that now."

"Then maybe we both learned somethin'," Renji concedes, those eyes watching Ichigo closely. "But I still say it ain't yer fault. Maybe someday you'll actually believe it, too."

Ichigo snorts. "I'll believe it when it's true."

Renji rolls his eyes. He gazes at Ichigo for a long moment, and that look is so familiar that Ichigo feels something behind his eyes burn. His heart hurts in his chest, and he can't swallow past the lump in his throat. Ichigo actually thinks he might cry. From the way Renji watches him then, he knows it, too. Knows that Ichigo has missed him more than he'll ever admit to anyone but himself. Knows that Ichigo will regret until his dying day not taking Grimmjow out if it meant Renji would live. Knows that no matter what Renji says now, Ichigo will never let go of that guilt.

"Stubborn brat," Renji finally mutters. "Look, I'd love ta argue with ya all day, but there's someone else's who's been waitin' a lot longer than me," he retorts, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "So we'll continue this later, huh?"

Later? Is there going to be a later?

Renji chooses that moment to step aside, and when Ichigo catches sight of who's standing just behind him, his heart stutters in his chest.

"...Mom?"

She smiles at him, soft and sure, her eyes lighting up, face just as he remembers. Unchanged for the years and years that lie between them.

"Hello, dear." Masaki moves forward, her footsteps a soft wisp over the dusty floor.

Once again, Ichigo is speechless. His hands twitch, the urge to fall into her arms like a little boy almost overwhelming.

"I... I can't believe you're here."

His mother chuckles and closes the distance. "How could I miss this opportunity?"

Her hands lift to grasp his, squeezing his fingers. She feels warm to the touch, like she's real and not a figment of his imagination. Ichigo swallows; he's imagined what he'd say to his mother if he ever saw her again a thousand times. He's practiced the words over and over, but now, he finds all those carefully planned phrases becoming dust in the wind.

"Mom... I..."

"I'm proud of you."

Ichigo's head jerks up, his eyes catching his mother's own. "For what?"

"For being who you are. Exactly the man I thought you'd be. And more," Masaki says, her lips pulling into a soft smile that is highlighted by a quiet chuckle. "And certainly better than I could have expected for only having Isshin to rely on."

Ichigo's torn between scowling at mention of his father and agreeing with amusement at Isshin's less than stellar parenting. He can't decide to smile or frown.

"Did you know?"

"About him being a Shinigami?" Masaki asks, and when Ichigo nods, she continues. "Yes, I knew. He told me."

Ichigo's brow furrows, drawn tight with a mix of emotions. "Then you knew it was a Hollow that day. Didn't you?"

His mother's expression softens. "Ichigo, you were too young to understand the difference. All I could do was protect you until you were old enough to realize it for yourself. It was all I could do without powers of my own."

Ichigo looks away, his own shame cascading over him. "That should have been Isshin's job," he mutters.

Masaki squeezes his fingers warmly. "When you're ready, you should listen to your father's story. And all the reasons why he couldn't."

"He doesn't deserve it," Ichigo huffs.

His mother outright laughs, affectionate and amused. "You're so stubborn," she murmurs and releases his hands, only to reach up and cup his face. Touch so warm and familiar. "But it's one of the reasons you're so charming. You've grown into a fine man, Ichigo. I always knew you would."

He can't hold her eyes. His gaze skitters away to the safety of this dream, where the walls are coated in dusts and intangible ghosts roam around them.

"I don't feel like one."

"Such is the way of things." Her thumb strokes across his cheekbone. "And that, my son, is the reason why you are here."

He turns his head back toward her. "You mean...?"

"I can't tell you the answers," Masaki replies. "But I know you, Ichigo. You'll figure them out on your own. I am only the push."

His brow furrows; his mother's words make little sense.

"Mom..."

"Someone else is waiting to talk to you," Masaki says, straightening, her hand falling from his face and leaving him feel chilled and alone.

"But-"

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to talk with me later," she reassures, and her hands fall on his shoulders, spinning him around as though they are playing some sort of game. "Time is what you have plenty of now, Ichigo."

Confusion leaves him sputtering, head turning to try and keep track of his mother, but she gives him a light push. It's enough to make stumble, stepping forward, and when he looks over his shoulder, she's gone. Like she'd never been there at all.

"Mom?"

Ichigo whirls around, searching the faceless shapes milling around for his mother's smile or a flash of auburn hair. Masaki, however, is nowhere to be found. What Ichigo finds instead is another familiar face. One that he'd only expected to see if Sousuke had been standing beside him.

But then, the war makes family out of even the most distant of strangers.

Kyouraku Shunsui reclines on the floor, hands folded behind his head, straw hat half-cocked. One leg is balanced over a drawn up knee, and the pink haori is a familiar sight, achingly so. He's chewing on a stalk of grass, but he seems to sense when Ichigo notices him. He sits up, one hand rising to keep his hat on his head.

"Hey," he greets with a grin and a chuckle, hauling himself to his feet. His haori settles around his shoulders like it's attached to him, but underneath, he's not dressed like a Shinigami. "It's about time you noticed me."

"Have you been here the whole time?"

Shunsui tilts his head from side to side. "Depends on what you mean by that." He plucks the grass from his lips. "If you mean, here in this afterlife of the afterlife, then yes. If you mean here in this room... well, yes and no."

Ichigo scowls. "Are you all supposed to speak in riddles?"

"It's part of the rules, kid," Shunsui replies with an outright laugh, genuine amusement that echoes around the broken walls. "If we told you what to do, it would invalidate everything. So we can only play our parts and believe. Which we do, Ichigo, honestly. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to linger. And neither would your mother. Or Abarai-kun."

More riddles. More puzzles. Ichigo's not cut out for these. In that moment, he wishes Kisuke were at his side. Sousuke even. They are much better at word games, at figuring out confusing mysteries. They'd be able to tell him what to do next.

Instead, the world gets Ichigo. Who's floundering, weighed down by his guilt, unable to see the right path.

He rakes a hand through his hair. "I don't know what I'm doing," he admits.

"I don't think any of us do, really." Shunsui reaches up and removes his hat, holding it to his chest as though putting on a solemn act. "We just do what we can and hope that it works out in the end."

"What we can isn't always good enough," Ichigo retorts bitterly.

Shunsui shakes his head. "Your best is all we can ask for," he corrects, and something in his tone seems to echo. "Anything else is unfair. And yet... here we are, on hands and knees, begging when all you really need is to rest."

"Rest?" Ichigo snorts, surprising himself with the level of his bitterness, especially to someone who doesn't deserve it. Shunsui has only ever been supportive of him. "I don't know the meaning of it."

The normally affable man's face morphs into sobriety. Such an out of character expression that Ichigo shifts uncomfortably.

"Is this really what you want, Ichigo?"

"What do you mean?"

Shunsui gestures with one hand, indicating the crumbling ruins around them, the faceless ghosts, the feelings of expectation that hang in the air and on Ichigo's shoulders. Like a thousand eyes are watching him, hanging on his every word, waiting for something, waiting for… _him_.

"You don't have to do this. Right now, all you have to do is walk away," Shunsui explains, but he doesn't elaborate on what _this_ is.

Which is okay because Ichigo knows what he means. He's beginning to understand.

"Just leave," Shunsui continues. "None of us would fault you for it. We want your happiness above all."

Ichigo blinks. "Walk away?"

His eyes are soft, understanding, filled with regret and innumerable other things. Almost as though he's not seeing Ichigo but someone else. Someone from the past who he couldn't save the first go round.

"You don't have to be responsible for the whole world. You don't have to take that weight upon yourself."

That his words echo those of both Kisuke and Sousuke doesn't surprise Ichigo. Both men are concerned for Ichigo in their own way, though their reasoning is somewhat different. But it's also a point Ichigo has made to himself over and over, in the long hours of even longer nights, when he's debated his course of action and the consequences of it.

He shakes his head. "No one else is stepping up to do it," Ichigo shoots back. "And I can't do nothing. I can't sit and watch the world burn if there's something I can do to stop it."

He can't tie his hands and pretend it doesn't affect him. Can't stick his head in the sand and pretend he can't see. Ichigo can't and won't be like his father.

A fond smile curls Shunsui's lips. "Then that's all I want to hear." He claps Ichigo on the shoulder in a move that Isshin has done maybe once since Ichigo was a boy. "Just remember to be happy then. That's all we want for you. Take time to enjoy what you're protecting. Or you'll hate yourself in the future. And perhaps everyone else."

Ichigo finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace in the next instant. One that reminds him all too much of the first time Shunsui had hugged him. Back when Ichigo had just killed Ulquiorra and no one else understood why that bothered him so much. Rukia sure hadn't. And at the time, Kisuke had been too busy to notice.

"Thank you," Ichigo says as the emotional hug ends, though he's not entirely sure for what.

"No need," Shunsui says with a smile. "Now turn around. There's just one more step."

Emboldened, Ichigo nods and obeys, sensing that Shunsui has already faded into nothingness behind him. Just like the others. Which leaves him staring at the last person Ichigo would've ever expected to see. They are enemies who were never allies, had never truly spoken to each other, had barely interacted during the war.

For the life of him, Ichigo isn't sure why he's staring at Ichimaru Gin. Who has his arms buried in the sleeves of a pale kimono, his feet oddly bare, silvery hair brushing across his forehead. For once, his eyes aren't closed, and the very _blue_ ness of them is as startling as it is surprising.

Ichigo tilts his head.

"I don't get it," he says.

Ichimaru grins, lips slowly curling with amusement. "What do ya mean?"

He rubs one hand over his arm, glancing at the faceless ghosts roaming around. "I get why Renji was here. And my mother. And even Shunsui if I thought about it. But you... I've never even talked to you. Not really. So why are you here?"

"'Cause I'm the one most like you," Ichimaru replies easily, as though it makes the most sense in the world. "Yer everything I could've been, and I'm everything you never were."

Ichigo sighs yet again. "You speak in riddles, too?"

"It's a learned trait," Ichimaru replies with a chuckle. "Look at the man who raised me."

It goes without saying who he means. And Ichigo has a feeling he know where this is going.

"I suppose you're going to tell me to forgive Aizen and everyone else in order to make the world a better place, right?" he asks skeptically.

"No." Ichimaru sounds even more amused as he fixes Ichigo with dancing eyes. "I'm here ta tell ya ta forgive yerself."

It's the last thing Ichigo expects to hear, and he honestly doesn't understand it.

"For what?" he all but demands and waves a hand.

Ichimaru rolls his shoulders. "For not saving yer mother. For not being smarter. For being a human child in a Shinigami war." His gaze steadies, focusing on Ichigo. "For not chasing after Jyuu-san. For trying ta pretend ya could go back. For not doing something sooner."

His words strike a toll inside Ichigo.

Forgive himself. What a novel concept. It seems so simple, doesn't it? Just move on, toss the past aside, get over it. He can't fix everything; he can't pretend it didn't happen. He's not the hero he thinks he should be.

Ichigo suspects that's not what Ichimaru is trying to tell him though. Those lingering echoes of self-doubt are the problem here. Ichigo could save the whole world, and it still wouldn't be enough, not to him. There will always be something he regrets, something he didn't do. Something he didn't prevent, someone he didn't rescue, a life he lost. Maybe he should realize he's not god, he's not omniscient, he's allowed to fail.

Except if this works, Ichigo _will_ be god. Which is rather gut-clenching now that he actually thinks about it.

Forgive himself.

Of all things that Ichigo could've anticipated Ichimaru demanding of him, this is the last he expects. And yet, it is also the most challenging. Is that it, then? The final step?

Forgive himself.

No, that's not what Ichimaru is saying. He's giving Ichigo permission, isn't he? He doesn't have to build his bridge right now; he just has to accept that the potential is there. That he can grieve and mourn and feel the burning anger, so long as he learns in the end.

The bitter anger slowly bleeds out of Ichigo. No, Ichimaru isn't demanding that he forgets the past. Ichigo can live with that.

He exhales a quiet breath. "You know," Ichigo begins with a strange sense of understanding. "We could've been friends."

"We still can," Ichimaru replies, and his lips widen into a grin that is less inflammatory and menacing as Ichigo remembers it to be. "My social calendar's pretty empty now, ya know. Not a lot ta do up here while we wait."

Renji had said the same thing. That they were all waiting. But waiting for him? Or is Ichigo overreaching, thinking himself more important than he already is? Maybe they're waiting for something – _someone_ – else entirely?

"Wait for what?"

Ichimaru looks amused. "Oh, Ichi-kun. I think ya know the answer to that."

Ichigo half-turns. He lets his gaze sweep over the crumbling walls, the tattered drapes, the faceless spirits, the feeling of absolute nothingness.

"I get the theory," he admits. "But telling me where to go from here would be nice."

"In my experience, it's always best ta try th' door," Gin responds, and when Ichigo shifts back his direction, he notices that the man is pointing to an entryway that had completely escaped Ichigo's notice before.

Or perhaps it hadn't existed until he'd asked. Ichigo will never know for sure. He looks at it, the frame etched with a scrolling designs, the clearance several feet above his own head. From his position, he should at least be able to see some of the room where it leads, but to Ichigo's eyes, there is nothing. Just a dim and grey formlessness.

Ichigo turns toward it, taking a step across the dusty marble.

"That's it?" he asks, moving until he stands in front of the archway, staring into nothing. He hesitates, but he's not sure why.

Ichimaru doesn't answer. Ichigo looks behind him, and to his surprise, the milling, spirits have all vanished. The only one there is Ichimaru now, and even he is fading. His edges are less defined, his colors less bright and noticeable. He's only looking at Ichigo now, as though to say "get on with it."

There's no reason to delay anymore. This is why Ichigo is here. There's nothing to be afraid of at this point. And Ichigo doesn't want any more regrets.

He turns toward the archway and walks through it without a second's pause. Ichigo flinches, expecting to feel something tangible. Like stepping into a spider's web or diving into lukewarm water or even the tingling sensation of traveling through the gate between worlds. He half-expects to be blinded by a brilliant, white light.

Instead, the dimness falls away like someone's lowered a curtain of grey and revealed the startling color behind it. Ichigo walks, but there's no path or immediate destination. He looks down, and his sneakers don't seem to be landing on anything. But when he looks around, walls are springing up to either side of him. Popping up from the nothingness like they've been grown, building brick by brick in fast, soundless succession.

He wants to stop and stare but feels compelled to keep moving, head swiveling back and forth in utter awe.

The walls build, and at their apex, they curve above him, reaching toward one another until they form a ceiling. Chandeliers drop down, cascading in gleaming rows of platinum and gold and sparkling gems. In some places, the ceiling opens up with skylights, and blue sky can be seen peppered with white clouds.

The walls themselves don't stay bare for long, tapestries unfurling in glorious washes of color, the images weaving themselves instantly, so fast that the scenes almost come to life. Sunlight streams in from windows where glass blooms between wooden panes as though it were liquid water suddenly flash frozen, clear and beautiful.

He takes another step and nearly stumbles as there is sudden firmness beneath his feet. Ichigo looks down and stares into his own face, the floor so polished it reflects his features as though it were a mirror. It's a mixture of grays and pinks and light blues, and his footsteps seem abnormally loud as he walks over it. That is, until his very path is abruptly covered by a plush rug in a soft navy shade, one that lines the very middle of the corridor but not the entire floor.

Doors appear in the walls, but where they lead, Ichigo doesn't know. Not yet. He keeps walking forward, following a hallway that seems endless, stretching out before him. Except that it's not endless. At the far end is a pair of doors, nearly twice Ichigo's height, thick wood banded with gleaming metal.

Ichigo reaches out, intending to pull one half of the doors open, but it swings away from his hand before he can even touch it. The hinges don't creak as the door swings inward, revealing a room so large he almost can't see the end. It reminds him of the first place he'd woken with the tattered scrolls and the draped dais, only this time it's different.

Everything shines, awash with color, and at the far end is not a throne on a dais, but a long table. A rectangular piece of sturdy, polished wood with chairs enough to seat a dozen men or women on either side. Perhaps more. It's hard to count chairs at this distance.

The walls here are as covered with tapestries as everywhere else. The chandeliers sprinkling a rainbow of color over the ceiling. His footsteps are a soft whisper of sound on the thick, navy runner. Something pulses in the air around him, a spiritual presence that doesn't seem defined.

Ichigo runs his fingers across the wood of the table. It's cool to the touch, the whorls in the polished surface easily traced by his fingertips.

The palace is beautiful, and it's to be his. Ichigo understands that now. As much as he understands that there isn't a throne because Ichigo doesn't want one. He doesn't want to sit in a high tower, staring down at the rest of the world. He doesn't want to be that removed.

But for all that it is glorious and beautiful and elegant, the palace – or castle perhaps – is empty. Devoid of residents and life. It's lacking in what really matters.

And Ichigo has the sudden, desperate worry that it means he'll spend the rest of his existence trapped in this place of luxury, utterly alone. Which would be not only a fate worse than death but worse than laboring under Soul Society's broken rule.

He doesn't want to be alone.

Reiatsu suddenly surges around Ichigo. He can't tell if it's coming _from_ him or elsewhere, as it strobes throughout the large chamber in a tidal wave of pure power. There's a flash of light, not blinding, but seeming to implode. It throbs through Ichigo in perfect tandem with his heartbeat. It's strong enough to rattle the walls and make the delicate glass in the windows tremble.

Ichigo turns around, and his jaw drops.

' _Ask and ye shall receive_ ,' he thinks because where there had been emptiness, the entire chamber is now packed to the brim with people. Familiar faces who are not ghosts, who can't be here but are and who are staring at him with as much confusion as Ichigo is giving them in return.

How...?

"Wow..." Shinji says, the first to speak, standing at the head of the pack and staring around him in unbridled wonder. "It _actually_ worked."

Ichigo scowls. "Thanks for the show of confidence," he snarks back, arms crossing over his chest as his eyes narrow. "What are you doing here?"

Shinji arches a brow at him. Gives him a look that says Ichigo is still a dumb kid no matter which throne he sits on.

"I should be asking ya that question. One minute, we're waiting fer ya ta come back from wherever ya went. The next-"

"We're here," Kisuke finishes for him. He's somehow standing on Shinji's other side, though Ichigo distinctly remembers leaving the blond behind in the living world.

"Wait a minute," Hiyori pipes up, her brow scrunching with confusion. "If this worked, does that mean you're the king now?"

It's a valid question. Ichigo doesn't quite know how to answer it. He doesn't _feel_ any different. He still feels like himself, just Ichigo, with a zanpakutou and a Hollow and a scientifically created power throbbing within his chest.

A snort ripples through the open room, invoking everyone's attention. Many of them turn to Ichigo's left, and the gasp that follows is almost universal.

"How else do ya think ya got here?" Gin questions with a wide smirk.

Ichigo blinks. Another ripple of outright disbelief echoes through the crowd of gathered folk, all Ichigo's allies in some way, shape, and form.

"Gin?" a voice whispers then, one which sounds so familiar but so unlike the Aizen Sousuke they all know that it's hardly recognizable.

"Ichimaru?" someone else demands from the back. "You're supposed to be dead."

"So am I," Renji jumps in and heads swivel toward him. He's leaning against the wall between two large tapestries, arms crossed over his chest. "Didn't stop me from bein' here either."

"And you're in the Royal Palace," Shunsui adds, suddenly blinking into existence and startling the life out of Ichigo. "Death is relative here."

An odd smile tugs at his mouth as his gaze flits to his nephew, who's only a few steps away but staring in Gin's direction like his life depends on it. But then, Shunsui looks away, and one hand lifts in a friendly wave, his eyes suddenly too shiny.

"Hey, Jyuu-chan."

Ichigo hears something like a startled gasp mixed with a sob of joy but turns away to give them the illusion of privacy. He takes several steps forward as a blur of white rushes by him, and then, he's pointedly not looking behind him. Nor is he looking to his right where Gin now stands before Sousuke.

"I called everyone here then?" Ichigo asks no one in particular.

His mind is boggling over the idea. He doesn't feel any different. Not bursting with power or brimming with reiatsu. He still feels like himself, just Ichigo.

Renji grins as he saunters over. "Yeah. Which means you'll have ta be a bit more circumspect with the things ya wish for from now on."

"No kidding," Shinji retorts, but Neliel hushes him with a hand to his arm.

There's another general murmur of the crowd, but they're all too distracted with looking around now, and Ichigo watches as they slowly disperse. Yoruichi-san has already wandered over to a window to peek out, while Byakuya has gone over to inspect a tapestry. The fact that it's right next to Renji is completely coincidental, but Rukia, who is here too somehow, doesn't even seem to care as she launches herself at her oldest friend. Yumichika-san, Kenpachi, and Yachiru slowly make their way over too, but Ichigo is distracted from that reunion by the sight of a slightly bloody but grinning Karin headed his direction with Toushirou barely a step behind. Isshin is following, but he's unceremoniously shoved out of the way by Yuzu as she comes in from the other side.

Ichigo braces himself as both his sisters reach him at the same time in a whirl of hugs, and he's lost in the feel of them for a moment before opening his eyes to look over their heads. Toushirou is just smirking at him a few steps away, but that turns to something like a look of horror as his lieutenant rushes over and grabs him for a bone-crushing hug that lifts him from the ground. Hanatarou stands where Yuzu left him but makes his way to her side as she steps back from her brother, hovering in a way that Isshin certainly doesn't like if his expression is anything to go by. He's fortunately interrupted before he can say anything though as the rest of the Vizard and Neliel come up to them.

"I knew you could do it," Neliel is the first to jump in, beaming with pride and clapping her hands together.

"Ya made us so proud," Shinji adds, but it's hard to tell how serious he's being with the glint to his eye.

Lisa snorts. "Not like we did much to help. Everything was wrapping up when we got here."

"What can I say?" Karin jumps in. "It's not our fault you were late to the party."

Lisa gives an unexpected laugh at that, eyeing Toushirou as he stands next to Ichigo's sister and then shrugging. Thankfully, her gaze goes elsewhere then, but it's more like she's distracted by the reunion taking place nearby as Ise goes to join her former captain and Jyuushiro.

Ichigo supposes it's just the day for seeing old friends and family. Everybody here lost someone during the war, and it seems like most of them are suddenly popping up. He can already see the newcomers looking around for familiar faces, and most of them have to be wondering if they'll turn up. If Ichigo has anything to say about it, they will.

"So," Hiyori interrupts his thoughts, voice loud and clear over the murmur of multiple conversations. "What's next?"

Ichigo, for all his confusion and trepidation and anxiety, bursts into unexpected laughter. It only draws a host of concern, but he ways them off. Since really, it's too funny. Too ironic.

Honestly, he doesn't know where to _start_.


	40. Beginnings

After taking up residence in the royal palace, Sousuke spends a week walking the long halls and corridors, peering into every room, wandering the multiple gardens, generally familiarizing himself with the layout. Even so, he still feels as if he hasn't seen everything, and if not for Gin's assistance, he's quite certain he would have only found himself lost on several occasions.

It's easy enough to find his room and Ichigo's and even Urahara's. But sometimes, it's that much easier to get turned around, to find himself in the massive kitchens or one of more than a dozen fully outfitted bathrooms or even the libraries with so many books he doesn't think a lifetime is long enough to read them all.

It's a strange feeling, this peace that falls over his shoulders. Here, Sousuke is free to wander as he pleases. Ichigo hasn't even required that he have a bodyguard, nor did Kisuke try to convince him of the necessity. Which isn't to say that a fuss wasn't made about his existence.

When the dust settled and the light faded and the Shinigami finally accepted that Ichigo was their new king, some of them realized that their mortal enemy was there, too. And many of them weren't happy of this fact.

At worst, they called for an immediate execution. At best, imprisonment in the deepest levels of the Maggot's Nest. As though Sousuke is something to fear without an ounce of reiatsu to speak of.

He expected Urahara's voice to be loudest among them. To Sousuke's surprise, the man said nothing. He hadn't defended Sousuke, but he hadn't spoken against him either. Truly a marvel of restraint.

His allies, however, had held no such qualms.

" _So the rumors were true," Komamura says, voice booming louder than all the others, even as he towers above them "He_ _ **is**_ _still alive."_

" _Yes," Ichigo replies, and there's a hard edge present as he tilts his chin, looking up at the much taller captain without an ounce of fear. "And he's going to stay that way."_

_Sousuke, for his part, keeps his silence. There is no rationalizing with the irrational, and so long as Ichigo, the_ _**king** _ _, wants him alive he's in no danger of sudden execution. And he has no worries for being hated for the rest of his existence either. If they are waiting for an apology, the world will end first._

_He has no apologies to give. He has no regrets. Save for the lives he couldn't protect and the lives he hadn't wanted to take. Fate has seen fit to give him a chance to make those failures right. He can see Gin, even now standing on the other side of the room, cool and confident as he watches the bickering with amusement. He sees Shunsui as well next to Ichigo, equally amused, familiar hat sitting half-cocked on his head._

_There is nothing the foolish Shinigami can do to Sousuke that will hurt any more than what's already happened. And the opinions that matter most to him have already been made clear. If Shunsui and Gin have a problem with him, they've never hinted nor said anything outright. They actually seem relieved to see him. Happy even. And anything else is between the three of them alone._

" _Yes, I knew!" Shihouin's voice rises above all the others, loud and angry, breaking through Sousuke's thoughts. "But I didn't do this for Aizen. I did it for Ichigo! We all did."_

" _It doesn't bother you that he's alive?" Hisagi demands. He looks a little worse for wear, face red with exertion. "He's responsible for Soifon's death!"_

_Shihouin tilts her head, a wash of pain reflecting in her eyes. "If I thought killing him would make that easier to bear, he'd already be dead."_

_Sousuke glances at Ichigo then, but the new king is saying nothing, merely watching as the Shinigami shout amongst themselves, trying to resign each other to Sousuke's existence. They can yell and bicker about it all they want, but the fact of the matter remains, Sousuke is here to say. Ichigo has already said as much._

" _You can't have forgiven him," Hisagi hisses, and he sounds more vindictive than Sousuke has ever heard from the normally level-headed man._

_Gold eyes flash. "_ _**Never** _ _," Yoruichi all but spits the word. "Not as long as I exist. But he's powerless right now. Helpless as a child. And_ _**that** _ _I can endure."_

"You're goin' ta miss th' meetin'."

Sousuke turns away from the window to find that Gin is nearby, lounging against a wall.

"Yer lost again, aren't ya?" his former lieutenant adds, eyes sparkling with humor.

Despite himself, Sousuke feels the smile curling at his lips, still unable to fight the initial relief and happiness that surges through him upon sight of Gin. Alive – or something similar – and well.

"I know exactly where I am," Sousuke replies smoothly.

"Really." Gin rises, kimono falling around him in black waves of fabric streaked with silver. "And where's that?"

Looking around, Sousuke tries to remember where he'd let his idle wanderings take him. He doesn't recognize this area of the palace, however, and resigns himself to the fact he'd once again discovered a new hall. He sighs, defeated.

"Very well," Sousuke admits, much to Gin's amusement. "Where am I?"

Gin chuckles, striding alongside Sousuke and gesturing him to the right. "Not far from where ya need ta be actually," he comments. "And lucky fer ya, I'm goin' ta the meeting as well."

Right. The meeting. The one Ichigo called in order to decide several things regarding Soul Society's rule. He'd let a week pass while hashing out the particulars, give the Shinigami some time to get used to the idea of him being king. But now is the time to get down to business.

Sousuke supposes he should consider himself lucky that Ichigo includes Sousuke in the short list of people debating their future.

Content to follow Gin's lead, he inclines his head. "Will any other... lingerers be making an appearance?"

Honestly, Sousuke has no idea what to call those like Gin and Shunsui. They aren't ghosts or spirits because they are more independent and free-thinking than the faceless, shifty forms that flit through the palace, performing the more domestic duties. They aren't Shinigami anymore either as they don't carry zanpakutou nor do they have a tangible reiatsu. They are, however, dead as Sousuke has seen them randomly appear and disappear, along with phasing through walls and such. And they cannot leave the palace.

"Lingerers?" Gin laughs, outright laughs at this, and Sousuke is torn. Unsure if he hates that Gin is dead or is relieved that death has brought some kind of peace to him. "We prefer _guardians_ , but ya can call us that if ya want. And no, I don't think so. Got better things ta do, according to Shun-san."

Shun-san. Sousuke didn't think he'd ever see the day when Gin and Shunsui would get along as two close friends as they do now. There been a distance before. One that Sousuke could admit now bothered him. Despite the fact that he'd tied them together, Gin has always been too wary of Shunsui, and Shunsui himself had always looked at Gin strangely, almost sad.

But death changes a lot of things. Sousuke should know. He's been as close to it without actually passing on that a Shinigami can get.

Still, Sousuke's curiosity is piqued.

"Why guardians?"

Gin makes a gesture toward the palace around him.

"I'm not sure. Jes feels right. For a long time, we were waitin' though we didn't know why. Now that Ichigo's here... it's like we know what we're supposed ta do. Like it's been the plan all along."

Interesting.

Sousuke folds his arms into his sleeves as he considers. He has the oddest feeling that had he succeeded in defeating the Gotei 13 and making his way to here, that he wouldn't have gained the throne. There's something about the world that is... sentient, he supposes is the correct term. He hates to admit it, but it stands to reason that Sousuke would've been rejected.

Ichigo, on the other hand, seems to have been the world's first choice.

Sousuke wonders how much of the circumstances were by designs he hadn't been privy to. How much of this was... _fated_. Sousuke has never been one to ascribe to the constraints of destiny, but something about the situation rings strongly of predetermination. He also supposes he'll never know. He could ask Ichigo, but he doubts even Ichigo will have the answer. It's something that will forever remain a mystery.

Besides, Sousuke doesn't think _anyone_ will want to believe that what they suffered, the friends they lost, was supposed to happen. It's the sort of truth that could break a person. Sousuke himself isn't too happy with the theory. Best to leave it alone.

"Besides," Gin's voice cuts into his thoughts. "We like Ichigo, so it's not a hassle ta stick around fer him."

' _Only for him?_ ' Sousuke wonders and nearly asks aloud, but he's almost afraid to hear the answer.

He can see from the glint in Gin's eyes though that he's guessed Sousuke's thoughts, and a warm shoulder brushes against his own in a manner that is both familiar and reassuring. It isn't normal affection or even a broad declaration, but it's as comfortable as either of them have ever been at such things. And if it makes Sousuke's heart beat easier, then so much the better.

"Yes," Sousuke allows with a smile, "it is hard to dislike him."

Gin brushes against him again. "So I've noticed," he observes with a distinct note of teasing, one that Sousuke had learned to be wary of and that he's ridiculously happy to hear once more. "Been spendin' a lot of late nights with him, haven't ya?"

He's not going to be embarrassed by Gin. He's just not. There've never been secrets between them. Not Gin as he awkwardly explored the physical aspects of being an adult. Not Sousuke as he had dalliances of his own.

"There are many particulars we've been discussing in depth," Sousuke replies, but he tilts his head in a nod that he knows Gin will understand. His lieutenant processes that for a moment before his grin brightens even more.

"Is that so?" he questions, but it's more rhetorical, and his face is too wicked "Does this mean it's time fer another chat about where babies come from?"

Sousuke fights not to whip his head around, and he is thankfully saved from coming up with a suitable retort when they arrive at the double doors leading to Ichigo's "war room." Such is the name that Hirako has given it, while Ichigo rolled his eyes and didn't argue against it. Basically, a smaller version of the massive throne room, where Ichigo feels less like a king on his throne and more like the average soldier.

Ignoring Gin's muffled laughter – face buried in his sleeve – Sousuke pulls open the door so that they can enter. He notices belatedly that they are the last to arrive. How long _had_ he been wandering lost to his thoughts?

"Gin," Ichigo greets, sitting at one side of the rectangular table, rather than at the head as any normal leader would do. "You found him."

"I wasn't lost," Sousuke replies almost indignantly. After all, _Urahara_ had managed to find his way here for once, the shopkeeper now at Ichigo's right hand.

The corner of Ichigo's mouth tilts upward. "Of course not," he says solicitously. "But now that you're here, we can get started."

Hirako snickers from where he lounges at one end of the table, nearest to Urahara, sprawled across his high-backed chair. His Arrancar fiancée is missing though.

"Always like ta make an entrance, don't ya, Sou-chan?"

It's a sad state of affairs when Sousuke is so used to his former captain's teasing that it no longer irritates him. "I was making myself useful," he retorts and takes his seat in the last available chair, which is to Ichigo's left as Gin has taken the one across from him, next to Jyuushiro-san.

On the captain-commander's other side is Shihouin, and Unohana-san is just down from her. Across from Hirako, at the other head, is Kuchiki Byakuya, his lips pinched with displeasure at sight of Sousuke but saying nothing. He's not sure why Kuchiki is here, save that it had been Kuchiki and Shihouin leading the coup within Soul Society, aided and abetted as they were by Zaraki and Hitsugaya-kun. An interesting team up.

The table itself is covered in a massive map of Soul Society, a pretty accurate one actually as it shows the places that have been destroyed recently. Some parts of it are covered by various documents, however, whose contents Sousuke can't see yet. A few of the papers he recognizes as something he and Ichigo put together in the last week.

Hirako mock-gasps. "My heart, Sou-chan, you wound me. I'm plenty useful."

"Not yet you aren't," Ichigo inserts with rare humor. "But by the end of today, you will be."

"I'm happy ta be of service," Hirako says with fake solemnity as he places a hand on his chest.

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo rises to his feet and braces his palms on the table. "Drama queen," he mutters before letting his eyes roam over the gathered men and women. "Now that everyone's here, we can get started."

Shihouin plants one elbow on the table, propping her chin on her palm. "What's the first order of business, your highness?" she asks with a smirk that makes Ichigo simultaneously glare and turn pink.

"Don't call me that," he growls, sounding like he's been saying reciting the same order over and over. "And we'll start at the top."

"The top," Jyuushiro-san repeats. He leans back in his chair and lets his fingers rap over the table. "You mean, Chamber 46."

Ichigo nods. "Most of them aren't going to agree with the plans I have. That's fine. They can consider themselves retired. Their rules are outdated and counterproductive."

"Big words there, boss." Hirako smirks. "Been plannin' with Sou-kun?"

"I'm so glad you think that," Ichigo says, and he smirks, a calculating edge to his voice that amuses Sousuke greatly. "Because I've decided you are the best option to take over Chamber 46."

Hirako's jaw drops. Sousuke himself feels considerably smug. It's a great decision, tactically, but an even better one in terms of payback. What better to give his slack captain than a job requiring enormous responsibility?

The Vizard works his jaw and wiggles a finger in his ear. "I don't think I heard ya correctly. Ya want me ta be in charge of Chamber 46?"

"Yep." Ichigo levels a gaze on Hirako. "You might be a slacker and all that, but I trust you, and that's what's important here. Chamber 46 is your discretion. Fire who you want. Keep who you like. Fill the positions as you will."

Kuchiki stares at Ichigo with something all too much like abject shock before he can compose himself. "You're serious," he says too flatly. He looks like he's been smacked with a dead fish.

Ichigo inclines his head. "I am. The only one higher than Shinji will be me. And I, at least, am fair."

"I'm so acceptin' this," Hirako says, an odd expression of mad glee on his face that makes Sousuke wonder if Ichigo is sure about this. "I already know who my first appointment will be, too."

"Oh?" Sousuke arches a brow, but he already has a fair idea, and Hirako's look only cements it.

"Hiyori."

Sousuke makes a thoughtful and approving sound.

In an odd way, it makes sense. Oh, sure, they'll bicker and fight for the rest of their existence, but if there's anyone who will make sure Hirako doesn't get too full of himself, it's Sarugaki.

Jyuushiro-san nods thoughtfully. "A sound decision, Ichigo-kun," he says with no hint of the uneasy discomfort that had once been between he and Ichigo. Whatever tension had colored their interaction was gone now. Sousuke wonders when that happened.

"Thank you." Ichigo looks a bit embarrassed, heat staining his cheeks and ears, but he clears his throat and manages to sound official nevertheless. "Which brings me to my next point: the Gotei 13."

"Are you thinking about disbanding it?" Kuchiki questions, the only one in the room who is sitting ramrod straight, as though he's replaced his spine with an iron bar. Even Unohana-san is serene and relaxed, if quiet.

Ichigo shakes his head. "No. It's a good configuration with some minor changes of course." His gaze shift to Jyuushiro-san. "There's no one I'd rather have as captain-commander."

It's Jyuushiro-san's turn to look a little uncomfortable. As though he doesn't feel he deserves to keep his position.

"Are you certain?" he asks very softly. "There are others who've proven their loyalty more than I."

"But there are few people I know with the strength of character to admit they were wrong, something Yamamoto could never do," Ichigo replies, meeting Jyuushiro-san's gaze evenly, proving yet again that the years had matured him.

"Indeed," Unohana-san adds then. "He was a man of many strengths, but that wasn't one of them. I believe that without Chamber 46 confining you, that you will lead us again to the greatness we once held."

She exchanges a look with Ichigo, who nods.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm very certain."

Jyuushiro-san lets out a slow breath. "Then I'm honored to accept." His hands flatten on the tabletop, palms over a section of the map depicting the former Soukyoku Hill. "And the empty positions?"

"I'd like to hear your suggestions first," Ichigo replies. "There are... seven leading positions open now. Right?"

"Yes." Jyuushiro-san starts tapping the table with his fingers again. Nervous habit perhaps. "Neliel-chan has already asked for a division, and I'd like to give her the third."

Ichigo smiles approvingly. "She's already asked me, too. Go for it."

"The eighth is also in need of a captain. I hope to offer the position to Yadomaru-san," Jyuushiro-san continues, the light in his eyes one of renewing strength. His shoulders straightening, his posture fixing itself, as though he's finally remembering what and who he is.

"Lisa?" Hirako snorts, leaning back in his chair with too much amusement. "With Rukia-chan as her second? That's going to be fun."

"You don't think she'll accept?" Jyuushiro-san actually seems dismayed.

Laughing, Hirako shakes his head. "I _know_ she will."

"Good," Ichigo interjects. "Who else?"

"Both positions in the fifth division need to be filled. I'm unsure who to draft as the lieutenant. In all likelihood, I'll leave that up to the captain whom I intend to be Ayasegawa-kun."

"Yumichika?" Ichigo blinks. "He has bankai? Why wasn't he given one of the captaincies before then?"

"He achieved bankai during the war," Kuchiki fills in, surprising Sousuke with the fact he's aware of such thing. Especially for a member of the eleventh. "Chamber 46 refused to accept his promotion on account of the fact he was more loyal to Zaraki than he was to them."

"The eleventh has always been like that. It was one reason we could never convince Ikkaku-kun to accept a captaincy," Jyuushiro-san says. "Ayasegawa-kun, however, is much more reasonable, and he has a fondness for Ichigo. It's possible that he might be willing to accept the position under Ichigo's request as opposed to the previous… ah, _leadership_."

Ichigo nods slowly. "Offer it to him then. If he wants it, he can have it." His gaze drops, roaming over what bits of the map of Soul Society he can see around scattered paperwork. "Who else?"

"The ninth needs a vice-captain, and the thirteenth needs a captain. Right now, I don't have anyone in mind for either of those positions," Jyuushiro-san says. "It will be difficult to find someone else with bankai, and the list of those with shikai we can trust is a short one."

"What about Love or Rose?" Shihouin suggests and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Both of them were captains once, and they'd fill in until you can find someone else."

Sousuke shakes his head. "We have something else in mind for them."

"Besides," Hirako adds with a curious look at both Ichigo and Sousuke, "they don't want to lead divisions again."

"There is another possibility," Jyuushiro-san says, and here, he looks at Ichigo a little uneasily. "Your sister."

"Karin?" Ichigo's jaw drops. "She doesn't have shikai!"

Shihouin arches a brow. "Doesn't she?" she asks with a smug tone. "Oh, Ichigo, how little you know about your own sibling. Tsk, tsk." She wags a finger. "And even if she doesn't at this very moment, she will. _Soon_. Arguably, before she graduates that living world school."

"No. Absolutely not." Ichigo shakes his head firmly. "I'm not getting either of them involved. They deserve a chance to be separate from Soul Society."

Sousuke's lips thin. He wonders if that is the way Ichigo thinks. That he never had a chance and couldn't take that opportunity even if he wanted to.

"Newsflash," Hirako drawls, tilting his head to the side as he props one foot on the table. "They're already involved. In case ya forgot, Karin was helpin' Shorty take down the eighth just a week ago. And Yuzu was quite the cute nurse with that Yamada kid in the fourth."

Ichigo's shoulders slump, and finally, he returns to his seat. He slumps in it noticeably.

"I don't want them to be involved." One hand rises, rubbing his forehead.

"I think they're a little old for you to be making that decision for them," Jyuushiro-san puts in gently. "And knowing your sisters, they'd be angry if you didn't let them."

"I know," Ichigo says with an audible exhale. "But I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it," Shihouin points out.

Ichigo waves one hand in the air. "Alright, I get it. _Moving on_. Is there anything else?"

"Just the second division," Jyuushiro-san says, and he points a look at Shihouin. "I'd be honored if you'd agree to take it once again."

Shihouin grins. "Why, sir, I thought you'd never ask," she purrs. "I'd be utterly delighted to do so."

"Perfect," Ichigo cuts in, and his face morphs with annoyance as one of the palace servants suddenly appears at his right, leaning toward him.

Sousuke can't hear what the nearly transparent individual says, only Ichigo can apparently. The spirits have been wandering in and out of the room all meeting but haven't spoken or made their presences apparent until just now.

"No, I'm busy right now," Ichigo replies with a light frown, trying to wave away the servant. "Come back later." A pause, the shade tilting its head to the side. "No, I don't need anything."

Hirako chuckles. "You don't, but maybe _we_ do."

"Yer fine," Gin says with an amused curl of his lips. "They don't care for yer comfort after all. Only the king's."

Ichigo sighs. "And they bother me all the freakin' time." He rubs his fingers across his forehead as the servant pops out of existence just like that. "I get that they're happy to finally have a king, but seriously, it's suffocating."

"You should feel honored, your highness," Shihouin teases.

Ichigo rolls his eyes. "Don't call me that," he says, almost on automatic, and his brow furrows. "Where were we?"

"The second division," Jyuushiro-san supplies.

"Which I accepted," Shihouin adds.

Ichigo nods sharply. "Right." He clears his throat. "Which reminds me... the Maggot's Nest. I want it gone. Shut down. Whatever. Just get rid of it."

"And what do you propose we do with those imprisoned?" Kuchiki asks a touch frostily, but then, that seems to be his default setting. Sousuke honestly doesn't know what Nanao sees in him.

"Either charge them with a crime or let them go. Watch them if you have to. I don't care." There's a harshness to Ichigo's tone, his fingers scraping across the map-covered table. "What's been done to them is inhumane and wrong, no matter what justification Chamber 46 tried to give."

Shihouin twists her jaw. "It will be difficult," she says, but when Ichigo stares at her, waiting for her to deny him, her voice shifts. "But not impossible. They are, as you know, largely innocent of actual crimes. I think a parole of some kind will ease everyone's concerns, while still granting them freedom."

"Good enough for me," Ichigo responds, and his fingers rap across the tabletop. "And on that note: Hollows."

Kuchiki goes rigid. "Are you implying we need to stop purifying the Hollow as well?" He sounds aghast, horrified, and with good reason. If the Shinigami aren't to battle the Hollow, then what good are they?

"No, that's not it," Ichigo counters. "Hollows need to be cleansed. They're a threat to Pluses and to Shinigami. I'm referring rather to sapient Hollows. Those like Neliel and her companions. The Arrancar we could've won to our side."

"What about them?" Kuchiki demands.

"They should be reasoned with, if at all possible," Ichigo says, not at all intimidated by the increasing frost in Kuchiki's tone. "Not to the detriment of a Shinigami's life, but I no longer want them killed on sight. To that end, it's also not a crime for a Shinigami to become a Vizard."

Hirako laughs, the sound ringing through the war room. "You didn't make that rule. I can tell. It has Sou-chan written all over it."

The tip of Ichigo's ears burn red. "He just changed the wording. The law was your fiancée's suggestion."

"Surely, you understand a need for it," Sousuke inserts smoothly, glancing pointedly at Hirako.

"Not quite what I meant, Sou-chan, and ya know it," Hirako loses none of his humor. In fact, he looks as if he might start teasing then and there. Though this is hardly the place for it.

Sousuke twitches. "I know what you meant."

"There are many that will not approve of your changes, Kurosaki Ichigo," Kuchiki says, his voice carrying over their tete-a-tete. "Not everyone is loyal to you."

Ichigo sighs. "I know, but they'll have to get over it. They don't have to serve in the Gotei 13 or Chamber 46. They're more than welcome to leave if they don't like my rules. It's not like I'm being unfair."

"I don't like this." Shihouin frowns. "Bya-bo's right. Some people won't either. They might even try something stupid."

"Like try ta assassinate their new king?" Gin puts in with a solemn face.

The leader of the Onmitsukidoh inclines her head. "Exactly. They might think they can do better. They might get something like war inside their head."

"I'd hope that they wouldn't think of me like Chamber 46," Ichigo says quietly. "That's why I'm not closing off the palace or going into hiding. That's why I'm not considering myself removed from Soul Society."

Shihouin rolls her eyes. "Well, that's just stupid. It's an open invitation for anyone to come strolling in."

"That's kinda the point, Yoruichi," Hirako retorts. "Ichigo's not trying to be someone hidden on his throne. Though I don't think he wants an assassin ta kill him in his sleep."

"No, that would be kind of counterproductive," Gin says with a smirk now. "Which is why he's got the guard. Or did ya'll forget?"

"You mean the zero division." Jyuushiro-san gives a slow nod. "I haven't seen any evidence of their continued existence, which is probably why it didn't occur to us."

"You wish to reinstate them?" Kuchiki asks, and his eyes are unreadable, but there's a hint of something to his shift in posture.

Sousuke balances his elbow on the arm of his chair. "As powerful as Ichigo is, there are times when he is vulnerable. There's a reason for the Royal Guard after all."

"I'm guessing you already have someone in mind to fill the open positions," Jyuushiro-san comments.

"Yeah," Ichigo answers. "I was going to ask Love and Rose. And my father has already... _volunteered_."

Hirako snickers. "You mean, he told ya he was gonna become a member and yer mom backed him up."

"Something like that," Ichigo dismisses with a wave.

"Kurosaki-san will be equivalent to the lieutenant," Sousuke explains, leaning his chin on his knuckles.

Gin tilts his chin up, eyes gleaming slits of blue. "And as steward of this here palace, I'm makin' it my duty ta be th' captain. I like ta see assassins try ta kill me now."

Sousuke fights a laugh. That would be hideously redundant, wouldn't it? Killing a twice dead man.

Predictably, however, Kuchiki stiffens. "I am not certain that's the best of ideas," he says in an emotionless but almost disdainful tone, and his lips press in a thin line. "You were our enemy."

"The key word, Byakuya, is _were_." Ichigo says, and he plants both hands firmly on the table as he leans forward and pins the Kuchiki noble with an unnerving, hard-edged look.

Sousuke's breath catches in his throat.

The _power_ emanating from Ichigo is damn near tangible. The latent tingle of reiatsu in the room is Ichigo's alone, completely overriding everyone else. And yet... comfortable, not painful like the brush of Urahara's had been so many months ago.

"Things are going to be different, starting _now_ , and _here_ , I'm appointing Gin as the captain of the Royal Guard. You don't have to like it."

Kuchiki twitches. "I see." His head dips by a fraction, a show of acquiescence and perhaps of respect. "Then I hope your trust is not misplaced."

"It's not," Ichigo counters flatly.

Though honestly, Sousuke is surprised as well. Ichigo barely knows Gin, but he's willing to trust him now.

Is this what becoming king has done for Ichigo? Is this how much that power has changed him? Is it a good thing?

Ichigo's gaze shifts away from Kuchiki as he relaxes back into his chair. "Last order of business," he says. "The gate. Kisuke?"

Sousuke blinks. He'd damn near forgotten Urahara was present. The shopkeeper hadn't spoken a word for the entire meeting, quietly observing and offering little. Further proof that he had no place at Ichigo's side.

The blond inclines his head. "Should be ready within the week." Urahara visibly stirs. "I've programmed it so that it can seal shut in the event of an emergency, but otherwise, it will allow free movement between Soul Society and here."

"Where's the entrance?" Shihouin asks in such a way that Sousuke wonders if she's already making plans to post guards. Visible and otherwise.

"In the first division." Urahara tips his head to hide under his hat. "I've restructured the fountain to accommodate the gate."

Ichigo's gaze softens as he looks at the man – his former lover. Or are they really through? Sousuke's convinced of nothing anymore.

"Good idea," the new king says. "It'll be easier to find that way."

"I still maintain open access is dangerous," Shihouin mutters, and her feet wriggle where they are still propped on the tabletop. "But hell, whatever his highness wants, I guess."

"Was there anything else?" Jyuushiro-san inquires in a clear redirection. His gaze drops to sweep over Seireitei's map, as if looking for another topic.

Hirako rises to his feet. "If there is, we can save it fer another time. This meetin' has gone on long enough." His arms stretch over his head, bones popping audibly.

"Agreed." Ichigo taps his fingers on the table. "I suppose we're done here for now."

As if he'd ordered everyone to stand, they all rise as one. Sousuke isn't sure if it's due to his subtle command or if they'd all been simply tired of sitting there. Either way, he knows that he isn't the only one to notice. Gin is too smug as he comes up to Sousuke's side, and Unohana-san's eyes are too shrewd. Shihouin and Kuchiki exchange a subtle glance and move to stand together, while Urahara's face is unreadable beneath his hat. Jyuushiro-san simply smiles, but his posture is a tad too forced, and Hirako won't stop smirking.

The only one who doesn't seem to have realized is Ichigo himself.

Sousuke can't decide if that's a good sign or a bad one. Or perhaps it just means that Ichigo isn't letting his new position go to his head. That he'll be not only the kind of king they desperately need but one they'll never have cause to hate or fear.

One can only hope.


	41. Enemies

Sake, Kisuke muses, tastes no different in the Royal Palace than it does in either the living world or Seireitei. He almost expects for it to have an otherworld, supernatural flavor. But no, the taste is all the same. Somewhat bitter, a sharp bite to the tongue, and a pleasing warmth that spreads through his belly.

The effects are the same, too. He's somehow both relaxed and taut, dizzy yet focused, giddy and at the same time altogether morose. He had hoped the sake would help him settle, at least somewhere in the middle, somewhere numb. Instead, it's only highlighting the contrasting nature of his emotions, leaving him a muddled mess.

A muddled _drunken_ mess.

His quarters aren't the problem. Far from it. Just for himself, he's got three rooms. A bedroom, an adjoining lab, a bath. They've all been decorated in shades of beige and green, the bed large enough for two and a friend with his personal laboratory stocked to the gills. It's the stuff scientists only dream about, and that's not even mentioning the damn _hall_ of research rooms that are located elsewhere.

Kisuke knows he should be beyond ecstatic. Ichigo's alive, he's king now, and as such, Kisuke's exile has been lifted. He can come and go from Seireitei as he wishes, not that he's interested in going anymore. Ichigo's here, so here is where Kisuke will stay.

In his room, for the most part, since Kisuke can't find his way around the palace without help. Help that is long in coming. Ichigo has no trouble getting around, and that bastard Aizen walks around like he owns the place. Kisuke, however, finds himself lost at any given moment, and the ghostly spirits that haunt the halls aren't keen on helping. Him anyway.

They tend to fall over themselves to assist Aizen, however, which doesn't make a damn bit of sense.

"So I'm trapped," the blond mutters under his breath, stopping to take a swig straight from the bottle. He doesn't even taste it anymore. "Which is probably how he likes it. Bastard."

Irritation bubbles up beneath the surface. It's all Aizen's fault, of course. Kisuke can't find a moment's alone time with Ichigo, not with Aizen always there at Ichigo's side. Offering words of advice and management techniques and old laws to nix or new ones to put in place.

Politics have never been Kisuke's strong suit. He better understands the mechanics of an engine or the proper mixing of chemicals than he does the manipulative ways that people think. He _can't_ help Ichigo with this task, this new and sudden responsibility of running a world. He can't do much of anything really, except pace back and forth through his beautiful quarters, drinking his weight in sake.

The last drops of the bottle slither into his mouth. Kisuke tosses it aside, hearing it thump against plush carpet. Couldn't even get a satisfying crash out of it.

"This is all Aizen's fault," he says and refuses to call it a whine.

"I'm pretty sure he's not the reason you're out of sake."

Kisuke whirls toward his doorway. But he instantly regrets the action when his head spins and the ground tries to reach up for him.

"Yoruichi!" he exclaims before pain spikes through his eyeballs. "Ow." He rubs at his temple.

The world is tilting, and he can't read her expression as she stands there, leaning in the entryway. One hand holds another jug of sake.

"You're looking... drunk there, Kisuke. Something I should know about?" she asks with false lightness.

Kisuke snorts. "All the spies in Seireitei and you haven't figured it out yet?"

She arches a brow at him, inviting herself into his room and shutting the door behind her. "Oh, I know all about you and his highness," Yoruichi replies. "Really screwed that up, didn't you?"

"Yes, thank you, I needed the reminder," Kisuke retorts. If she's going to be of so little help, then he's not going to regret the nastiness. He looks hopefully at the bottle in her hand, however. "Is that for me?"

Yoruichi rolls her eyes. "I was going to share, but if you're going to take that tone with me..." She holds it away from him. "You don't deserve any. Then again, in your current state, more alcohol is not the best of ideas."

Kisuke's shoulders slump as he bats his eyes in what he hopes is an alluring manner. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. Will you please deign to share with me?"

"That look doesn't work on me," Yoruichi says, and her gaze looks him over, more serious than he expects. "Why are you doing this?"

Kisuke squirms and takes several steps back. "Why does anyone drink?" He rakes a hand through his hair. Like this, he can't hide his expressions very well. Best not to let her see them in the first place.

"Oh, I don't know. To forget. To remember. Because they are angry and have no one to blame but themselves..." Yoruichi trails off, but her point is made.

"Maybe it's all three," he mutters.

"Maybe it is," Yoruichi agrees, and he can hear her move, catching her out of the corner of his eye as she selects what is arguably the most comfortable chair here. "So why don't you tell me all about it, Kisuke? It's been years. I feel like I'm missing something."

Kisuke's unable to hide the bitterness. "Years, yes," he agrees snidely. "Years since you vanished in the middle of the night, leaving me a _note_."

The sake jug makes a thunking noise as Yoruichi sets it on the floor at her feet, beyond his reach. "That was a necessary move on my part."

"I can think of a half-dozen ways you could have made your point better," Kisuke shoots back, fingers twitching. They're empty. He needs something else, another jug of sake, preferably the one that Yoruichi is holding away from him.

"Would it have made a difference?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Probably not.

Kisuke's shoulders sag. "You left," he bites out, and a small part of him celebrates that mentioning her absence no longer tears him to pieces as it once did. "You told me to be happy." He throws his arms out. "See how far that sentiment has gotten me?"

"From what I hear, you _were_ happy," Yoruichi returns quietly. "Kisuke... what exactly happened with Ichigo?"

He glances away. "I screwed up. I lied. No." Kisuke pauses to correct himself, "I withheld the truth, which is as much as a lie. Ichigo says he's forgiven me, but..." He shakes his head. "The damage has been done. I've already broken us."

She's silent for a moment. Waiting. Weighing.

"Did Ichigo say that?"

Kisuke presses his lips together. "It doesn't matter," he says in a low tone. "Because Aizen's already slithered his way to Ichigo's side with his damned _perfection_ , and I'm just the extra baggage that keeps tagging along."

Yoruichi's unimpressed whistle echoes around his quarters. "Wow, Kisuke, I don't think I've ever seen you filled with that much self-loathing. He really gets to you, doesn't he?"

He turns his head toward her sharply, nostrils flaring. "Am I supposed to welcome him with open arms?" Kisuke demands. "I don't remember you pulling him into a hug either."

"I didn't say you had to like him," Yoruichi comments mildly as she relaxes into the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "But hate him as you will, it doesn't change the fact he's going to be sticking around. You are going to need to deal with that."

His shoulders sag. "You fail at uplifting, encouraging discussions," he retorts and holds out a hand, tone flat. "Give me the sake."

"It's not going to help," she replies, nudging it out of sight with her bare toes.

Kisuke throws his hands into the air. "Great. You've officially proven that I'm on my own in this."

"You're annoyed because I don't want to support your one man pity party?" This time, she sounds fully amused. One leg bounces lightly where it's crossed over the other. "Go on, Kisuke, tell me why your life is so terrible."

His eyes narrow. "You're humoring me."

"Maybe." Yoruichi tilts her head, lips curved. "Before anything and everything, we were friends, weren't we?" she questions. Her tone is light, but something's hidden in her words, something a lot like regret. "Can't we go back to that?"

Her question hangs in the air, dangling on strings of tension. Kisuke exhales softly and slides back. He sits on the edge of his bed, elbows balanced on his knees.

"I am not angry with you," Kisuke admits and manages something of a smile, though it quickly flutters away. "I never could be."

"We all have our reasons for the actions we choose," Yoruichi replies and leans back into the chair again. "Tell me why you're trying to drink yourself sick."

Kisuke gives her a long look. "Would be succeeding if you'd hand me that bottle."

"Not going to happen." She snaps her fingers, the noise startling him out of his melancholic haze. "Talk to me, Kisuke. I might be able to help."

He snorts, lets himself fall back and stares up at the white, boring ceiling. "Are you going to assassinate Aizen in his sleep?"

"You know better than that." She's still amused, but there's an edge now.

"Then I don't think you can help."

Her irritation is a tangible buzz of reiatsu that washes against his skin. " _Kisuke_."

He rolls his eyes. "All right. Fine. I didn't mean it." The blond slings his arm over his eyes, blocking out sight of the ceiling. "Mostly."

"Don't let Ichigo hear you talking like that."

Kisuke sniffs. "Ichigo already knows my stance on his new best friend," he mutters, unable to hide his resentment. "Which is just another point in my disfavor. It doesn't help that Aizen acts like he's so damned perfect."

"Perfect. Really?" Yoruichi actually laughs. "That's a new one. Care to explain?"

Kisuke grinds his teeth. "If you'll recall Aizen _before_ his betrayal and war, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. He's polite. He's knowledgeable. He's befriended anyone who is close to Ichigo and in the meantime makes a nuisance of himself."

The chair creaks as Yoruichi moves. "Go on."

Feeling like a whiny teenager, Kisuke still can't stop himself when the words come pouring out.

"Everyone seems to be forgetting that he's the reason for the damn whole war," he complains. "That he's the reason some of our friends died and we're still struggling to rebuild a quarter of Seireitei."

Kisuke sits up, tension making him fidgety. And he fits the urge to pace again.

"Somehow, he's befriended all of the servants in the palace. Unohana fawns over him like he's her long lost son. He's charmed Ichigo's mother, which I've still yet to decide whether that's a bad thing or a point in favor of my personal safety."

Yoruichi's chuckle spills into the room. "Now that one you're going to have to explain."

"You've met Masaki," Kisuke replies with both of brows raised. "Her temper can be worse than Isshin's, and frankly, I'm not sure how she'd react to know about our relationship. Or past one, at any rate."

Bitterness seeps into his tone despite his best efforts. By the gods, he really has turned into something pathetic and useless, hasn't he?

Kisuke hauls himself to his feet, restlessness forcing them into movement. "He's charmed Ichigo's sisters as well. Though how he managed to convince Karin he wasn't evil incarnate, I have no idea. Especially with her love-toy shooting daggers at him every time their eyes meet. But even Hitsugaya hasn't murdered him in his sleep yet! And he should've been the first one!"

He makes a sound of absolute aggravation.

"Aizen has always been gifted with words. Which I'm sorry to say, Kisuke, has never been your strong suit," Yoruichi comments mildly. "But you have an appeal all your own."

Approaching his desk, Kisuke whirls to pace the other direction. "I'm assuming that's a compliment."

"My, aren't you defensive. I'm here to help." She pauses and amends that. "Without handing over this bottle of sake. I'm convinced you've had enough."

Because he's been reduced to pacing his bedroom and whining about Aizen? Maybe she has a point. That doesn't make Kisuke desire the bottle any less.

He sighs, turns on his heel, and paces across the floor again. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"For what?"

"For... everything!" His hands wave through the air. "For dealing with Aizen. For being useless. For trying to talk to Ichigo and Aizen getting in my way every fucking time. And if it's not Aizen, it's something related to him. You'd think the bastard planned it that way!"

He's breathing hard now, but he isn't quite sure why. He feels like he's run a marathon. As though these last few months have been nothing but a gauntlet of ghosts and bad memories and loss. She just looks at him, even as he feels his hands clench into fists, and Kisuke really feels like throwing something or drinking himself into oblivion or jumping out of the nearest window and finding something to kill.

"This isn't like you," Yoruichi says then and before he can decide which of those options he prefers.

Somehow, her hands are on his shoulders, but he didn't even see her get up. Once upon a time, he would have turned a cartwheel to have her this close to him. Now, he's just tired. Just wishes that someone else could be there instead.

"This isn't like you," she repeats and gives him a little shake. "Moping. Tiptoeing around. You said that you don't want to push him, and I'm telling you, that's what you _need_ to do."

Kisuke scoffs and tries to pull away but is held fast. "Yes, because that's sure to land me back on top of the favorite list. As if anything could dislodge Aizen."

"You like letting him win, then?" Yoruichi retorts, arching one eyebrow upward. "Because that's what you're doing. Calmly disappearing into the shadows and letting your guilt speak for itself. You're letting Aizen take what you want and aren't doing a damn thing to stop him."

A spark of anger flickers in Kisuke's chest. "And what is it you propose I do? Challenge him to a duel? Carry Ichigo off like some helpless princess?"

Yoruichi rolls her eyes. "Stop acting so damn dramatic. Not to mention passive for one thing. If you stand around waiting, nothing's going to happen. Either push Ichigo or give up."

"You sound like Shinji," Kisuke says sourly.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Yoruichi smirks and then suddenly whirls him around, giving a push to his upper back. "Go."

He stumbles, head spinning. "What? _Now?_ "

"The sake will give you courage," she says with another push that makes him stagger toward the door, catching his hands on frame.

"Does that mean you're going to give me the bottle?"

Yoruichi reaches by him, turning the knob and pushing the door open. "It will be waiting for you when you get back. Go."

He steps into the hallway, teetering on his decision. "But-"

"Kisuke," Yoruichi interrupts tightly, and he turns to look at her and catches the firm set of her chin. But her voice softens. "I know you love him. Now, he needs to know it, too."

His jaw drops, leaving him gaping like a landed fish, and Yoruichi chooses that opportunity to close the door. There's the distinct _snick_ of a lock as well, and Kisuke realizes that Yoruichi has locked him out of his own damn rooms.

Oh, she'll be gone later. Much later. Once, she's convinced he's gone and spoken with Ichigo like she suggested. But no matter how much he begs, Kisuke is quite certain she has no intention of letting him back in right now.

Rubbing fingers across his forehead, Kisuke turns away from his door, staring at the one across from him. It's Ichigo's. He doesn't spare a glance at the door just down the hall either – Aizen's room.

Yoruichi had given him little choice in this matter. But honestly, the only thing stopping him is his own cowardice.

Inhaling slowly, Kisuke steps toward Ichigo's door and raps his knuckles across the wood. He waits for a response but doesn't receive one. It's not late enough that Ichigo would be asleep. He knocks again, wincing to himself, wondering if he's being _too_ pushy.

There's no answer yet again. Ichigo's not in his room. Which isn't actually all that unusual, come to think of it.

Kisuke sighs, turning away. Nothing to do but find him then.

The corridors are still and silent. It's late, but that doesn't stop the various faceless servants from flitting around, doing whatever it is they do. They don't speak to Kisuke, hardly acknowledge his presence, which is another knife to the gut. Another reminder that he shouldn't be here, where he doesn't belong.

Kisuke swallows that errant thought down and continues his search. Down one hallway and then another. He wonders where Ichigo is. A cursory query with reiatsu doesn't give him an answer. It's like the walls are soaked in Ichigo's reiatsu, so that he feels surrounded by the new king. A nice feeling but altogether unhelpful in pinning down Ichigo's location.

He finds the war room purely by luck, but Ichigo isn't there. Nor is he in the kitchens or the massive sun room, looking out on a night-swept garden. Kisuke stands there for a minute, admiring the flowers in full bloom, hearing the soft trickle of some small stream. It's peaceful, but Ichigo isn't here.

Kisuke moves on.

One corridor leads into the next, dimly lit as though to mimic the fact that it is now nighttime, carpet plush beneath his feet. Kisuke somehow stumbles upon one of the palace's many libraries, pushing open the massive door and peering inside.

"Ichigo?" he calls out, far more time-saving than searching each of the dozen rows of shelves that are clearly visible.

Movement at the corner of his eye makes Kisuke shift. Only to spy Aizen stepping out from between two shelves, book in hand.

"He's not here," the former overlord says curtly and starts to turn away.

Kisuke's lips thin. Asking Aizen where Ichigo is would be like admitting exactly what position Aizen has taken in Ichigo's life. Kisuke's pride won't allow that. But then again, his pride is not exactly served by wandering around the palace in a half-drunken daze either.

"I see that now," Kisuke replies, equally snappish, and steps back with the intention to make a graceful exit.

His inebriated senses, however, care little for his pride and seem to have abandoned grace a few cupfuls of sake ago. He sways, trips on the door frame, and nearly tumbles to the floor. His arms flail around, catching the door and saving himself from a humiliating fall. Though the trip itself is no less embarrassing.

The world also chooses that moment to spin. And Aizen's sigh seems to echo around him.

"How much have you drank?"

Kisuke whips his head around, glaring. "Who says I've been drinking?" he snaps. But he regrets the quick motion in an instant, pain lancing behind his eyes, stomach roiling unpleasantly. He swallows down a rising tide of nausea.

Aizen sets the book aside, approaching Kisuke as his brow quirks. "I can smell the sake from here," he says mildly. "If I were you, I would return to my quarters before I collapsed."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not you." Kisuke shoves off the door despite his dizziness and staggers into the hallway. He pauses to get his bearings, trying to remember which way to go, trying to _decide_ where he should go.

To find Ichigo like he originally set out to do? Or maybe with the odd spinning, pulsing bit his brain is putting out, he ought to return to his quarters.

Which are... _where?_

"You are not the only one who finds that thought distasteful," Aizen puts in with that same bland tone. He follows Kisuke into the corridor, gaze flicking over him critically. "Though I have to say, a small part of me is impressed you made it here in that state. You are stubborn if nothing else."

Kisuke frowns. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Merely an observation." Aizen shifts, but something about the way he holds himself is defensive and anxious. "Your room is that way, in case you've forgotten," he says and gestures with a tilt of his head to Kisuke's left.

"I knew that!"

He tilts his head, tone thick with mockery. "Forgive me then. Turning in confused circles must be how you start all your journeys."

Kisuke grits his teeth, a snappy retort failing him. He turns away from Aizen with the intention of heading back to his quarters. There, at least, he can be assured of not accidentally running into his most hated enemy. He'll have to try and find Ichigo tomorrow, hopefully when the new king isn't being trailed by Aizen like a master with his dog.

However, his sense of independence falters when the hallway abruptly ends, branching into two opposite directions. Kisuke pauses, looking down one and then the other. They are identical in appearance, giving him no clue as to which is the correct route to take. He's strongly starting to suspect that the corridors are changing. Are moving at someone's – perhaps Ichigo – whim.

An aggravated sigh echoes behind him, and then, a hand firmly grasps his elbow.

"This way," Aizen says tightly and tugs Kisuke to the left.

He stumbles, trying to jerk his arm free from Aizen's hold. "I don't need your help," Kisuke hisses, but Aizen's quick stride forces him to focus more on maintaining his feet than obtaining his freedom. His skin is crawling, Aizen's lack of reiatsu more unnerving than anything else.

"It's quite obvious that you do," Aizen retorts, his grip firm but not painful. "You should be grateful that I'm even willing to offer it."

Kisuke works his jaw. "I hate you."

He stops resisting, however. As much as it pains him to admit it, he won't find his room anytime this century. And he's quite loathe to fall into a sodden heap on the floor in the middle of a random hallway.

He'll consent to Aizen's help. Just this once.

Brown eyes flick toward him before glancing away again. He steers Kisuke down an adjoining corridor effortlessly.

"I know. I dare say the feeling is mutual," Aizen comments like he's talking about nothing more personal than the weather. "But Ichigo would be less than impressed if I let you drown in your own vomit."

Kisuke's brow crinkles, confusion warring with utter disgust. "You know, that doesn't make any sense," he says.

But if Aizen's going to be helpful, maybe he'll be chatty, too. Maybe he'll finally answer some questions Kisuke's been harboring for quite some time.

"Why do you hate me so much?" the blond demands then. "I've never done anything to you."

Aizen, on the other hand, has given Kisuke numerous reasons to openly despise the ex-overlord. Kisuke can't remember a single occasion of ever once giving Aizen reason to abhor him. They'd barely had any contact prior to the day Aizen forced his experiments on the Vizard and contributed to Kisuke's exile.

There's silence for a moment, but Aizen actually deigns to answer.

"You took something from me," he replies, voice low and body stiff. His entire expression has closed down and reveals nothing.

They turn down another corridor where things begin to look familiar. Not that everything doesn't look similar anyway.

Kisuke scoffs. "I never knew you as anything beyond Shinji's lieutenant. What could I have possibly taken?"

Aizen's fingers flex around Kisuke's elbow. But they aren't enough to cause any pain.

"If you think on it hard enough, you'll figure it out," he continues without a hint of the roiling emotions that have to be beneath the surface.

Kisuke frowns. "You always speak in riddles, like you're trying to prove how smart you are," he mutters.

Down another hallway and Kisuke's shoulders sag with relief. He's familiar with the area now. Ichigo's room is there on the left, Aizen's next door, and across the hall is Kisuke's with an empty room beside his.

"You want something clearer?" Aizen marches him to his door, opening it with ease.

Hadn't Yoruichi locked it though?

Either way, Aizen still half-drags Kisuke into his own living quarters, steps more hurried than before.

"That was the whole point of me asking," Kisuke snaps, and this time, he manages to jerk his arm free of Aizen's grasp. Though he suspects it's more a result of Aizen choosing to let him go.

Aizen, however, is not yet finished. A solid push makes Kisuke tumble backward, falling heavily onto his bed with an undignified squawk. One that is quickly suppressed when Aizen looms over him, eyes dark and betraying whatever emotion broils behind them. It's Kisuke's first keen look at what lies behind Aizen's mask. Something inside of him quails, but a certain stubborn pride keeps his chin lifted. He'll never allow himself to be intimidated by _Aizen fucking Sousuke_.

"You call me a murderer and a traitor, but you've done things just as bad if not worse," Aizen says, words clipped and careful. "There are some lines even I've never crossed."

Kisuke's eyes narrow. "Yes, because forcefully turning Shinji and his friends into Vizard and slaughtering Chamber 46 are perfectly acceptable deeds."

"At least I openly accept that my actions are my own," the brunet deflects. "I don't hide behind the guise of following orders."

Kisuke twitches. "You don't even have the decency to regret your war. Why should it matter what you think of me?"

Aizen draws back, stiff and gaze unyielding. "You're the one who asked," he retorts and whirls on his heel, striding quickly from the room. "Go to sleep, Urahara. You stink of sake, and Ichigo would be less than impressed to see you right now."

"Oh, is that concern for me? How touching." Kisuke sneers.

The former overlord doesn't deign to respond, closing the door with a quiet click and leaving Kisuke in uncomfortable silence. Trust Aizen to have the last word, even if he'd spoken nothing aloud.

Flopping back onto his bed, Kisuke throws an arm over his eyes. He allows himself to sigh loudly for the first time. It isn't quite the bitter, near-violent verbal altercations of the past few months, but it leaves him feeling defeated all the same.


	42. Interlude Eight: Edge of the Earth

"It's truly pleasure to see you again, Kurosaki-heika," Unohana-san says as they finish their meal and sits back to relax.

Ichigo feels his eyebrow twitch. He thought he'd manage it. They'd spent the last hour talking, and she hadn't brought it up once, but now, she's gone and ruined it.

"Oh, not you, too," he all but groans. "It's Ichigo. Just Ichigo."

She smiles at him. "If you insist, Ichigo-san."

He tries not to glare at her. She's too scary for that anyway. He just frowns.

It's a familiar expression for him in general. Not to mention even more lately.

Being king sucks. Being stuck between two men sucks. Being all but expected to jump through flaming hoops while juggling knives and performing other miracles sucks.

Being Ichigo sucks.

And even better, his expression gives him away. Unohana-san's teasing falls away, and she looks at him as she did when she found him that morning and invited – demanded, dragged – him to lunch. Talking to her had made him forget. Had made his problems fall away for a while.

But they've all come roaring back now. And they all seem to center on one of two things.

Ichigo, king. Or Ichigo, lover.

Unohana-san sighs and tips her head at him. Ichigo hates to think what he must look like to earn the look she gives then. Almost stern but at the same time wistfully sad.

"You are troubled," she says, and it isn't a question. "I'd hoped that I could ease that burden some, but clearly, I've failed."

Ichigo exhales heavily. He feels suddenly and unexpectedly tired, and the day is only half over.

"It's not your fault," he replies and dismisses her concerns with a wave. "I'm not mad at you about it either."

She makes a humming sound. "Perhaps not at me. But at someone else then? Yourself even?"

Ichigo snorts. She tilts her head further at that.

"Not so much me as other people. And I'm not mad. Just… _frustrated_ ," he corrects.

"I'm familiar with such things," Unohana-san puts in sagely, and she glances out the window at nothing for a moment. "With how frustrating Seireitei and their politics can be."

There's something to the way she says it. An edge, an undercurrent that stops Ichigo's response short.

"I don't-"

"You know that my son and his family… were killed," she inserts softly then.

Ichigo honestly doesn't follow this complete non sequitur, but he nods slowly. He wants to offer an apology but doesn't know how so remains silent.

Unohana-san seems grateful for it.

"It was said that he was delving into matters best left alone. That he'd gained Hollow powers and had to be put down. I was skeptical naturally. But I was his mother, and no one believed me."

Her tone is soft. Little more than a whisper. Little more than heartbreak given a voice.

There's something at the back of Ichigo's mind even as he listens. Some thought. Some memory.

"The Onmitsukidoh was the one to do it. To kill my son… and then his wife and children." Her fingers start to curl, but she visibly stops herself. "The woman who murdered my son is now dead, but she was a captain once, you know. I stood beside her in every meeting for nearly a century."

She doesn't have to say it. He knows who she means.

"Soifon," Ichigo breathes, but it's so quiet she isn't even interrupted.

"And the man who murdered my grandchildren and daughter still lives. In this very palace." She waves to the building around them. "I saw him just today even. Passed him in the hallway on my way to see you."

Ichigo stares at her, but even as he does, he's thinking. Quickly and desperately.

Who? Who was it?

Yoruichi-sama… No, Unohana-san said it was a man and that he lives here.

Who else was in the Onmitsukidoh?

Shinji… No. Goat-Face… No way. Ki-

Ichigo sucks in a breath. His eyes widen with understanding. With horror. With the memory of a blond man leaving Ichigo's side seconds before Unohana-san walks up to him.

"You can't mean-"

"I mean as I said," she interrupts, and he knows that he isn't imagining it when he feels a tremble of reiatsu that's swiftly stopped dead. "They – my family – were eliminated by the then third and fourth-seats of the second division, shared as they were with the Onmitsukidoh."

Ichigo feels his brain break and his soul crumble into dust. He can merely stare in complete and utter horror as his mouth works.

"How…? How can you…? Why haven't you killed him yet?" Ichigo demands, and he can hardly believe his own ears.

Since really, that's exactly what Ichigo would've done himself. Had anyone even thought of touching a hair on the head of Karin or Yuzu or even Goat-Face, he would've burned mansions and cities and entire worlds. And that would've just been the start of it. Seireitei would be little more than ash and dust and even Yama-jii couldn't have stopped him. He can only imagine what she could do. What thousands of years of knowledge and experience turned to rage could've done.

She could've killed them all. Every single one of them. And probably a whole bunch of other people besides.

_Fuck._

Was Chamber 46 suicidal? Had they a death wish? Did the Onmitsukidoh? Did Soifon and Yoruichi for agreeing? Did Kisuke for going through with it?

And it's such a horrible thing to ask. To think about Kisuke. To know that they never would've met and Ichigo never would've kissed him or shared a bed or… _anything_.

But Unohana-san just offers him a sad, sad smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, and he doesn't know what to think about that.

"He wasn't to blame," she murmurs. "It wasn't out of malice. Or spite. It was his job. If he hadn't, someone else would have. Chamber 46 was to blame, and well…" She makes a sweeping gesture, and her smile has a flicker of satisfaction. "They are beyond my reach now."

' _Because Sousuke killed them_ ,' Ichigo thinks and suddenly understands a whole hell of a lot more than he did five minutes ago.

Things that never made sense before do in startling shades of stark black and white. Why exactly Sousuke hated Kisuke so much in the first damn place.

The knowledge is… _overwhelming_.

Ichigo wonders if Kisuke has even realized it. If this is one of his many secrets. If he even knows the names of all the people he's killed or how mind fuckingly scary their relatives are.

Probably not.

Ichigo can hardly comprehend it himself. Can't even begin to comprehend why on earth or any of their dozen heavens she suddenly felt the need to share this with him. As if his life and day didn't suck enough.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks and is shocked by how normal he sounds. Like his brain just didn't run off in revolt.

And if Ichigo didn't know her better, he'd think it was to make Sousuke look better and Kisuke worse. But Unohana-san isn't like that. She's not so cruel.

She straightens then. He hadn't even realized that she'd leaned forward to capture his hand.

"You deserve the truth," she says simply. "To know how bad things really were. To know that you aren't just a king to us." Her eyes are so blue then, burning. Almost fervent in a way he never thought she could be. "That you're a source of hope. A sign that the future is bright if only we work at it."

Ichigo can only swallow at the force of her words. At her conviction. At her sorrow and loss and perseverance.

Abruptly, his own problems don't seem that bad. He's the king of the known universe. He controls life and death. He has his friends and family and would-be lovers with him. He has his powers still and his sanity and anything he could ever think to ask for.

What could he possibly have to complain about? Why is he wasting his time whining when he could be out there doing things? Saving people? That's what he wanted, wasn't it? What he's good at.

And certainly, he can turn Seireitei from a cesspool of child murderers to something bordering on a real heaven. He can be the king they all want. That all their dead deserve. Renji and his mom and the ones not fortunate enough to be able to linger.

Ichigo can do this. Can be a Vizard and a king. Can make this place what it should've been to begin with.

He will.

He swears it.

o0o0o

They sit on Sousuke's balcony and watch the sunset turn to twilight in quiet companionship. Her cup is full of sake, but Sousuke has always been careful of that vice and drinks tea instead. The breeze tugs at her hair, and Nanao finally decides to let it loose as the sunlight fades away entirely. Sousuke always preferred it that way, and her current paramour does as well. So did Shunsui, and she has a dresser full of clips and barrettes he gave her in the hopes she'd choose style over a stern knot at the nape of her neck.

Nanao has thoughts of growing her hair out just to wear them, and if she's truly honest, the length right now is more than it's ever been before. She's been reluctant to cut it since the war; a lack of time has only been an excuse. Shunsui had always said that her hair was lovely, just as the rest of her, and she shouldn't hide it.

But now, Nanao doesn't have to hide much. Not anymore. She doesn't have to pretend. To be the upright and uptight vice-captain. To be blind to the horrors of Chamber 46 and Seireitei.

Now, she can finally be free. To do and think and say exactly what she wants, when she wants, because she wants.

She can't say that she'll let it go to waste.

Already, she's told Hirako Shinji that he's a blond-headed buffoon and has beaten him with her book to the applause to every person around them, his fiancée included. And that was just his first day on the job. If he doesn't get his act together soon, she'll have to make a repeat performance. She'll be sure to bring Sousuke next time; he'll enjoy it.

Beside her, he smiles as if reading her mind. She wonders sometimes if he really can.

However, he just reaches to refill her cup as they sit together, and his smile turns to something even softer. Almost beatific.

She watches him from the corner of her eye, but he doesn't look away from her. Simply watches her with curiosity. As if he's been turning a problem over in his head for a while and is still wondering at the solution.

"Why did you say no?"

The question comes out of nowhere. But at the same time, it doesn't.

They haven't been lovers for two decades now, but she knows him. Not just his body or the feel of his reiatsu. She knows _him_. The man who would-be a monster. The conqueror and would-have-been king.

She knows that this question has been burning at the back on his mind since the day she packed up her things and moved back to the vice-captain quarters at the eighth.

Nanao isn't the least bit surprised.

She turns to face him fully. Twilight suits him. His eyes are almost black now, so dark that they eat light and give none back. His hair is nearly that color, too. But somehow, it softens his face to something almost approachable.

He'd always liked her hair down, but she'd loved his more. Loved running her fingers through it as he lay with his head in her lap. Loved the way it brushed her nose as they kissed and he nibbled on her bottom lip. Loved tugging on the strands as he pleasured her and they slid together slick with sweat.

Admittedly, the thing that first brought her to her current paramour was his own lovely hair. Not that she'll ever tell him that. Don't get her wrong, the rest of the packaging is nice, too. Not to mention the mind wrapped inside. And what he could do with it.

…But that was a thought for another time. Perhaps when she was in the bath and not with her former beau and remembering how it felt to make love to him with a crazed passion that left them breathless and half-asleep the next morning.

Yes, Nanao will definitely revisit that thought later. Much later.

She takes a sip of her sake. "I would've held you back," she tells him then. "You would've worried about me, about your wife, when you should've been worrying about the world."

He looks at her like he isn't the least bit surprised that she'd deduced what he was doing back then. Nanao has always been his equal in intelligence; it's what attracted him to her. And she'd long been a casual ally in his cause. But she'd kept mostly in the background. Where plausible deniability and truth were so hard to discern. Where Shunsui would still have someone to lean on should the unthinkable happen and Sousuke get caught.

Yes, he would've had Ukitake-san, but he'd have lost a son and a daughter-in-law and something like a grandson all at the same time. It would've been an injury to the soul she doesn't think he could've survived. And even if Shunsui had, it would've remade him into something else. Some _one_ else. Not the man he should be.

Sousuke's smart enough to realize that. To understand without her having to explain.

He gives a nod. "Just so," he acknowledges and drinks more tea.

Nanao fights a smile. Such a typical response from him. Simple on the outside. Complex and layered within.

Even more than his hair, she'd always loved that.

Nanao looks at his dark eyes and sees the first man she ever took to her bed. The first she ever loved. The second to ever see that she was more than a bookish little girl, though admittedly Shunsui had always been good at seeing potential when people couldn't even notice it in themselves.

Some part of her will always love this man, Sousuke. Will always wake up and wonder why he isn't there. Just as her beau will always think of his first wife, she will always imagine how things could've been different. How beautiful their children would've been and if they would've called Gin-chan their brother.

But Nanao isn't one for regrets. She isn't one for wishing things were different. She'll wonder, but she'll be happy with how her life is now. She'll love her husband when he finally finds the nerve to ask her, and she'll adore the children they'll have and new sister she'll gain. She'll even make it a point to name her son Shunsui or perhaps a derivative.

She can just imagine her future husband's face when he learns that. It'll be priceless she's sure.

Nanao is still smiling over that when Sousuke finally speaks again some indeterminable time later. When the stars are out and the air carries a chill. When time threatens to pass them by.

"I did love you," Sousuke says then, and his face is as open as it ever gets. "Don't doubt that."

She shakes her head as another smile creeps to her mouth. "I never did."


	43. Lovers

"Where's Kisuke?"

Sousuke tenses for a brief moment before cautiously choosing his words. "Probably sleeping in," he answers, careful to keep the loathing from his voice. He could very easily tell Ichigo the truth but doubts that will be in his favor.

The fact that Urahara is going to have the hangover of a lifetime is a small comfort.

Ichigo frowns. He props his chin on his palm, elbow on the table.

"That's weird," he comments and watches as Sousuke finishes the last of his breakfast.

"Perhaps," the brunet concedes before busying himself with his tea. "It has, however, been a long few months. We could all use a little more rest."

"Hmm. You have a point." Ichigo's lips twitch. "Not that it seems to apply to me. How many meetings do I have today again?"

Despite himself, Sousuke smiles. "Only four." He folds his napkin away, still utterly surprised at how well nearly intangible beings can craft a decent breakfast.

"Only?" Ichigo snorts, but it's one of amusement instead of disdain. "You're practically giving me a vacation here, Sousuke."

"I've even gone to the effort of ensuring you'll enjoy most of them," Sousuke says in return, laying his chopsticks over his bowl and washing down his last bite with a sip of his water. "Though Isogai-san has returned to express his disapproval."

Ichigo groans, thunking his head on the table. Sousuke fights a bigger smile at the expression on his face.

"Again?" the Vizard questions with another put-out noise. "I think he complains just to hear himself talk."

Sousuke can't help but chuckle. "So it might seem. But I remind you that it was your idea to be open to the complaints of your _subjects_... your highness."

"Don't you start that, too." Ichigo straightens, swiping a hand through his hair and mussing up the orangish strands even further. "I don't need a fancy title."

"You deserve one."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, scooting his chair back and rising to his feet. That seems to be a signal for the servants as they immediately solidify and start clearing the table. Luckily, Sousuke himself is already finished, and this isn't an inconvenience to him.

"I didn't _do_ anything," Ichigo says, tone exasperating. It's a conversation they've had several times before. "You gave me the key. All I did was walk down a set of stairs and have some hallucinations. Like the reward for my psychotic break was a nice rusty kingdom."

Sousuke stands, moving aside to let the servants do their duty. "I think Gin would take offense to that."

"Gin does, in fact," his former subordinate drawls from behind them.

Sousuke turns, catching sight of Gin leaning in the doorway against the frame, arms folded across his chest. He merely gives his former captain a smirk that Sousuke returns.

"I'll have ya know that I'm as real as real gets," Gin adds.

"That makes absolutely zero sense," Ichigo replies with a sigh. He rounds the table. "Missed you at breakfast by the way."

Gin makes a vague gesture. "Had stuff ta take care of. Ya know. Busy times 'round here. Someone's got ta make sure this place stays tip-top."

"So you've mentioned before," Sousuke allows with both brows raised. "And since you're terribly busy, don't you have other things to be doing?"

Gin turns out of the door. "Yeah, I hear ya. Alone time with th' king."

" _Gin_."

His former subordinate chuckles as he steps completely out of the doorway and takes off to the left, off to oversee the dozen or so functions that have somehow fallen under Gin's command. Sousuke's not sure how that happened. He suspects Ichigo had much to do with it. Still, Sousuke's proud of what Gin has become.

"You know," Ichigo inserts, stepping up beside Sousuke with a contemplative cant to his head. "It's been a week, and I'm still surprised."

It's Sousuke's turn to look thoughtful. "By what?"

"Well, he's not exactly the murderous creep that I always thought he would be, for one thing," the younger man replies with a drawl. "Then again, I once thought the same thing about you."

"Once?" Like a kid with a crush, Sousuke's internals do a flip of excitement.

Ichigo rolls his eyes, half-turning to lean against the door frame, a position rather similar to the one Gin had just abandoned. "Pretend modesty doesn't suit you," he points out and then shrugs. "And yes, I've discovered that you're not half the monster I thought you were either. Funny how things change."

"I wouldn't exactly call it funny. Fortuitous perhaps," the brunet quips, but it's more than a little grateful.

"Yeah, well, I don't have your talent with words." Ichigo's shoulder brushes his as he takes a step forward.

Sousuke's lips curve into a smile. "Perhaps not. Your talents lie elsewhere." He leans in closer, indulging in the intoxicating sensation of just being near Ichigo. "Someone like you hardly needs words."

Ichigo's gaze flickers to him, the playful edge in them shifting to a darker hue. One that Sousuke has become more intimately familiar with over the past week.

"If that's what you call a pickup line, then maybe I was wrong about your language abilities."

"I thought it was working," the brunet retorts, but he's amused more than anything.

"It wasn't that bad," his king admits, rolling his shoulders in another shrug. "Could use some work though."

One hand reaches up, fingers cupping Sousuke's neck, dragging him forward, closing the short distance between them. Their lips meet. Ichigo tastes sweet and tangy, like orange juice, making the slow swirl of heat in Sousuke's belly stir to life. He leans closer, slips an arm around Ichigo's back, deepening the kiss. His tongue swipes inside Ichigo's mouth, teasing and tangling. His free hand settles on a hip, thumb swiping over the narrow band of flesh between Ichigo's pants and shirt. Skin warm and soft to the touch.

This is hardly the place. Sousuke knows that all too well, but Ichigo started it, and he's reluctant to deny his king anything.

"Your first meeting starts in ten minutes," Sousuke reminds him. He noses into the hollow behind Ichigo's ear, a place proven to be most sensitive.

The younger man sighs. He slowly pulls back from the embrace until there's a more professional distance between them.

"Yeah. I know." He tilts his head to look at Sousuke critically. "And what are you going to do in the meantime?"

"There are projects that I oversee," Sousuke responds in an even enough tone. "It takes a lot of work to be your secretary."

To his utmost pleasure, a flush enters Ichigo's cheeks. "Ugh. Please don't _ever_ say that again. You're not my secretary."

"Executive assistant then."

"That's not much better." The Vizard shakes his head, sliding out of the doorway and into the hall. "So what _other_ boring meetings do I have today?"

Sousuke's amusement increases tenfold. "Jyuushiro has some plans regarding the Gotei 13 he wishes to discuss; he's meeting you for lunch by the way. Shihouin-san is putting together the final plans for dissolution of the Maggot's Nest and wants your approval. And the Shiba clan wishes to petition you for reinstatement into the nobility."

Ichigo nods. "A busy day then." He turns to the right, where a few hallways down lies the door to the room he's dubbed his meeting hall. He pauses and shifts to look back at Sousuke. "Dinner tonight?"

Another juvenile leap of heat echoes in Sousuke's chest. "Of course. Good luck with Isogai."

Ichigo sniffs and turns completely, waving a dismissing hand over his shoulder. "I can handle him."

Sousuke has no doubt of that. The man is no warrior, only a lingering, outdated member of Chamber 46 whom Hirako allowed to keep his position. Why, Sousuke isn't sure; they'd all be better served by Isogai's absence. However, that isn't Sousuke's decision to make, so he simply assumes that his former captain has some grand plan in mind.

He watches Ichigo head down the hall before turning on his heel, going over his own duties in the back of his mind. Sousuke has been assigned nothing officially, but there are many responsibilities he's taken on himself, if only to ease Ichigo's burden. Despite being the king, Ichigo can't be everywhere at once. He can't see everything. He isn't omniscient.

Sousuke had been the one to put Ichigo in this position. It's only fair that he shoulder some of the responsibility. But first... there is one loathsome duty he must handle first.

He ducks back into the dining room, catching sight of one of the palace's many ghostly servants. Not knowing any of their names makes it difficult to call out to a single person in particular, but for some reason, they always seem to know when he needs something. One of the shifting, faceless servants turns toward Sousuke, head cocked in a manner that shows it's listening.

"Come with me," he says, part of him still wondering why he can get the servants to obey while they all but ignore Urahara's existence and just about everyone else. Perhaps they can recognize the better man.

The servant – a male, he thinks – nods. Satisfied, Sousuke leaves the dining room, certain that he's being trailed by a shifting apparition. It's early yet, so the hallways are noticeably empty of visitors, well-wishers, and complainers. This will change by noon, he's certain, but for now, Sousuke relishes in the peace.

He heads toward the living quarters, and the hall that houses his, Ichigo's and Urahara's rooms. He passes at the door to the latter, listening intently for signs of movement within. All he can hear, however, is the raucous sound of snoring.

Ugh.

Unlocked doors make it easier to get inside. Drawn curtains shed morning's light over the main room so that Sousuke doesn't trip on anything. He peers in cautiously, but Urahara is still asleep, sprawled across his bed and making an annoying racket. He's even drooling. A fact that Sousuke notes and promptly tells himself to forget. He'd have preferred not knowing.

Well, Urahara isn't dead. A pity. He managed to survive his night of inebriated shenanigans, and judging by the smell of sake emanating from the man's direction, Urahara won't rise anytime before noon. A small favor.

Sousuke sighs and turns back toward the servant. "When he wakes, bring him a bland breakfast. I doubt he'll be in any state to fetch it for himself."

The ghostly head nods – or Sousuke supposes that's what the wispy motion is – before the apparition dissolves into thin air. There, task accomplished.

Would he call it a kindness?

Perhaps not.

Sousuke didn't do this for Urahara's sake after all. For the scientist to wake up in some forgotten hallway, a drunken, sotted mess wouldn't upset Sousuke at all. Ichigo, on the other hand, would probably blame himself for it with that charming but pesky guilt. Right now, Ichigo doesn't need that added stress.

Another loud snore rolls up behind Sousuke, and he quickly makes his escape, closing the door tightly behind him. Now, to attend his other, more substantial duties. Except, Gin has apparently been waiting for him, standing in the corridor with a very amused look on his face.

"Well, that was nice of ya."

Sousuke feels himself twitch, despite his best efforts to control it. "You could call it that."

"I call it like I see it," Gin says with a wide grin, falling into step beside Sousuke with hands folded into his sleeves. "Or mebbe that was ya bein' yer sneaky self and gettin' rid of the competition."

"With your propensity to appear from the shadows, one would think you'd carefully choose who you accuse of sneaking," Sousuke replies mildly.

Gin chuckles. "Ah, but I learn from th' best. Ya have only yerself ta blame." He tilts his head to the side, gaze sharply flicking over Sousuke from top to bottom. "And yer not goin' ta distract me that easily either. Have yer eyes on becoming consort, do ya?"

"Do they even have such a thing anymore?" Sousuke asks and lets incredulity hide the truth of his reaction.

"I dunno. That's up to Ichigo really." Gin rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "But that's not what I asked, Aizen-taichou."

Sousuke inclines my head. "It's a question I can't answer since the decision is not mine to make."

"Yeah, yer skill with words hasn't changed," Gin put in glibly. "And I wasn't askin' what Ichigo wants. I'm askin' what ya want."

Working his jaw, Sousuke chooses his words carefully. Lest future events prove to be a disappointment only.

"I would not say no," he murmurs. "But I also understand that I'm standing on shaky ground at best."

Gin makes a noise in his throat. "Ya think Urahara's still got a chance?"

Sousuke doesn't think it; he knows. Before there was a mess of a relationship, there was friendship, battle camaraderie, a master and student bond. And that sort of thing isn't easily tossed aside. Besides, Sousuke's neither blind nor stupid. Urahara's in love with Ichigo, and there's a strong possibility that the feelings are reciprocated.

Urahara's lies by omission are not unforgivable transgressions. And Ichigo is the sort who doesn't let the past define someone. He can look beyond Urahara's less than stellar origins in the same manner that he's managed to see Sousuke's failed attempt at godhood.

"Yes, I do," Sousuke says and exhales softly. "That, however, isn't important right now. I assume you had another reason for seeking me out?"

"Work, work, work," Gin huffs. "That's all ya ever wanna do." He rolls his eyes. "And yeah, I had somethin' to tell ya." One hand appears from his sleeve, holding a rolled up parchment. "Here's a list of the damaged sectors of Seireitei."

Sousuke takes the document, unrolling it and briefly scanning the contents. "Thank you." He's impressed. It's very detailed and will save him hours of walking. "This will help."

"Cause I'm that helpful of a guy," Gin says with his usual sly humor, tossing Sousuke a sloppy salute. "And now, I'm off ta my stewardly duties. Gotta track down Ichigo, too."

Sousuke nods musingly. "Yes, you do that."

His response is spoken to empty air though. Sousuke doesn't know if Gin's ability to appear and disappear at will is due to his strange placement as guardian, but he somewhat envies his former subordinate for it. Such an ability would certainly save Sousuke time on walking, a loathsome task without shunpo to speed things along.

Sousuke shakes his head, amused despite himself. He has his own matters to attend now.

o0o0o

Urahara is noticeable in his absence during dinner. Whether he doesn't want to show his face out of a sense of shame or is otherwise occupied, Sousuke doesn't care to know. Ichigo, however, notices his loss with the same attention he paid to it this morning.

"He's probably busy working on that gate," Sousuke answers, wincing when he realizes it sounds like he's _defending_ Urahara of all things.

Ichigo inclines his head, making a noncommittal noise in his throat. "Maybe."

He pushes his dinner around the plate, looking more like he's playing with it and less like he's actually eating it. The ex-captain restrains the frown trying to pull his lips.

"How was your lunch with Jyuushiro-san?" he asks with the hopes of changing the subject.

"Fine." Ichigo rolls his shoulders. "He's filled every open slot in the Gotei 13 except for one. Apparently, it isn't easy finding someone who's both trustworthy and with bankai."

"To be expected," Sousuke muses aloud. Even with all the research he's accumulated, he has yet to find someone capable of taking the post either. Perhaps that opening will remain for some time.

Ichigo pushes his plate away with most of his food still on it. He looks tired, almost halfhearted.

"Yeah, I guess," he says and waves away the first servant who appears at his side. "No, thank you. I'm done now." There's an edge of impatience in his voice.

He truly looks weary then. It's been a long week, true. But things have calmed down some. Or is he not sleeping again?

"You're not hungry?" Sousuke questions instead.

"I had a big lunch," Ichigo replies, but he shifts in his chair, which doesn't give his words much credit.

Sousuke finishes the last of his meal and sets his plate aside. "Is dessert out of the question then?"

"Depends on what you mean by dessert." A small smile curves Ichigo lips.

He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of Ichigo flirting with him. "I believe I saw them preparing something like strawberry shortcake." The brunet lifts his brows pointedly.

Ichigo groans, shoving back his chair. "I didn't think you would resort to that overused joke."

"I couldn't resist," Sousuke teases and wipes at his mouth with a napkin. "If cake doesn't suit, perhaps you have something better in mind?"

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo rises from the table. "How about we leave the dining room first?"

"Your place or mine?"

A something like a chuckle mixed with a growl spills from Ichigo's lips. It makes Sousuke's heart jolt. Along with other body parts noticeably lower.

He hastily stands.

"Yours," his king says as Sousuke rounds the table to arrive at his side. "For a change of pace."

"You'll see no argument from me."

Ichigo shakes his head, and Sousuke trails after him out of the dining room, following familiar routes back to their quarters a short distance away. Of them all, Ichigo seems to be the one having the least trouble finding his way around. And he hadn't needed Gin to give him a map. Perhaps it is instinctive to him.

In the hallway, they fall into a companionable silence. Ichigo appears to have nothing more to say, and Sousuke briefly mulls over his completed tasks for the day, mentally listing what would need to be done tomorrow.

By the time they pass Ichigo's room – and Urahara's across the hall from it – Sousuke doesn't spare the scientist's door a second glance. If Urahara hadn't seen fit to show his face for dinner, all the better.

But it is something about Ichigo's odd quiet that bothers Sousuke. He doesn't miss the lingering glance Ichigo shoots at Urahara's door or the way his face briefly flutters with concern and something else. Something Sousuke can't even begin to name.

"Is something wrong?" the former traitor asks as he pushes open his door, gesturing for Ichigo to precede him.

Ichigo blinks.

"Hmm?" His gaze shifts to Sousuke as though suddenly realizing that they're walking into the room, waking up from wherever he'd been lost in thought. "No. Just thinking."

That's never a good sign. Sousuke eyes Ichigo.

"I seem to remember agreeing that kingly duties stop after dinner."

Ichigo's lips twitch in a half-smile. Yes, he's definitely distracted by something.

"Yeah, I know," he says and drops down into the couch with a lazy sprawl that somehow manages not to look ridiculous. "Sorry."

Shaking his head, Sousuke slides into the couch on Ichigo's left side, shifting so that he faces him. "All is forgiven." He pauses; Ichigo's distraction makes him uneasy. "You seem tired. Maybe-"

"No!"

Sousuke's mouth clamps shut, his brows crawling toward his hairline. That response was a little more urgent than the situation warranted.

Ichigo's face flushes. "I mean," he says, turning toward Sousuke and leaning closer, "I'm not _that_ tired." He carefully plucks the glasses from Sousuke's face and sets them on a nearby table.

Previous experience had taught them that they tended to get in the way, which made Sousuke strongly think about contacts once again.

"I see," Sousuke murmurs and closes the distance between them for a kiss that tastes and tingles with power.

For all his distraction, Ichigo returns the kiss eagerly, pressing closer, a knee working between Sousuke's legs. He finds himself pressed between the arm of the sofa and Ichigo, and the brunet has no intention of fighting his way free. Instead, he shifts around, pressing against the back of the sofa to make room for Ichigo to settle over him. He curls his fingers in Ichigo's hair and deepens the kiss, tongue sliding wetly against Ichigo's, nibbling at his lips. The warmth of Ichigo's body blankets him, and his second hand presses beside Sousuke for balance. His knee is a light, wonderful pressure on Sousuke's groin.

He groans, sliding one arm around Ichigo. His palm splays against the king's back, fingers lightly pressing on his shirt. Ichigo leans in completely, aligning their bodies in a slow and sinuous motion that ignites a fire in Sousuke's belly. Lips mouth a path over Ichigo's jaw before Sousuke returns to the kiss. He can feel the Vizard's stuttered breaths, the light dance of power and reiatsu against his skin. Sousuke can't decide which is more intoxicating.

Ichigo shifts his weight, clinging tighter to the back of the couch. His other hand lifts, landing on Sousuke's abdomen, lightly scratching over the thin fabric of his shirt. A sound works its way into the brunet's throat as he lets his own hand slide from Ichigo's back to his front, dipping under his shirt to touch heated skin.

Ichigo shivers, gasps, breaking off the kiss to attack Sousuke's throat. His hips rock down, grinding over Sousuke's and making him moan, the coil of heat in his belly flaring hotter and brighter. He has no idea where this is going, but as far as Sousuke is concerned, he's fine with letting his king lead the way.

He arches beneath Ichigo, desperate to have their bodies press together. Fingers scratch against Ichigo's abdomen and creep upward, stroking over rippled muscles and heated skin. Ichigo's hand, in turn, slides downward, toys with the edge of Sousuke's slacks. His breath stutters, length pulsing and eager for Ichigo's touch.

Ichigo's mouth drags back to his, lips crashing over Sousuke's, tongues tangling wetly. Hungrily. Sousuke's hand ghosts from Ichigo's hair to cupping the back of his neck, thumb stroking the curve of his jaw. He sucks in a sharp breath as Ichigo rocks down against him, and desire lances through him when Ichigo's palm lands on his clothed groin.

Sousuke groans, hips bucking into the touch, pulse beating wildly. His own hand slides downward, reaching for Ichigo's groin, intending to return the favor. His fingers brush over the fabric of Ichigo's pants.

Ichigo suddenly breaks away and slides back, putting a noticeable distance between them. Mere inches, but it's like being doused in freezing water. Especially when his hand removes itself from Sousuke's pants as though he's touched a hot burner. His gaze shifts to the side like he can't bear to meet Sousuke's eyes.

A feeling much like dread crashes over Sousuke. Worry churns in his belly.

"Ichigo?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, backing away further now, retreating and putting more distance between them. "I can't do this."

Sousuke's mouth opens, but he honestly can't think of a response. He scoots back, sitting up and planting his back against the arm of the couch, adding more distance. The heat in his body turns ice cold, chasing away the arousal and replacing it with something a lot like... _hurt_.

"I..."

Ichigo sighs, leaning forward placing his forehead on his palms. Like he's hiding his face.

"It's not your fault. It's mine. Completely mine."

Somehow, that does not make Sousuke feel any better.

"Shall I take a guess?" he questions, unable to completely keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Do you need one?" Ichigo's fingers flex, and he turns his head to watch Sousuke miserably. "I like you. I honestly do. But... it's not that simple anymore. I can't forget about Kisuke that easily. And it's my fault that I don't know what to do about that."

No. No, it's entirely Sousuke's fault for letting himself believe that things could be this easy. He'd known that whatever lay between Ichigo and Urahara wasn't so easily broken, but he'd stepped into that vacancy anyway. Like a love-struck fool.

Urahara would laugh if he knew know readily Sousuke had deceived himself. Just like he'd fooled everyone else for centuries. Just like he'd always wrapped lies in truths until they were indistinguishable from one another.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep, calming breath and tries to project a sense of composure. He can't be sure it works.

"What, exactly, does this mean?" Sousuke asks then because that's another place where his rationality fails him.

He had asked Ichigo if things were over with Urahara. The response he'd received hadn't been definite. That had been the first sign. There were others. Sousuke had ignored them.

Sousuke could blame Ichigo for this if he were so vindictive. But honestly, the fault lies with himself. It would be pointless to get angry with Ichigo when Sousuke should've known better.

"I don't know," Ichigo says, and one hand scrapes through his hair while the other arm falls to dangle over his knee. "I need... time, I guess. Space. I have to figure this out. 'Cause right now, I'm not being very fair. To anyone."

"I see," Sousuke replies.

Since really, what else can he say? Their relationship is too new for him to ask for anything. And Ichigo can't give him a promise.

The distance between them suddenly seems much wider than a half-length of couch cushion. His arousal has withered away to nonexistence, and his heart beats in his chest like a wounded bird that can't fly any longer, but his face is passive and blank.

Ichigo sighs again. Reiatsu buzzes around him in disconsolate tremors.

"I didn't mean to do this, you know," he murmurs.

Sousuke fights not to show his reaction. "Yes."

Because Sousuke honestly believes him. Ichigo would've never set out to hurt anyone. Sometimes, it just happens. It's Sousuke's own fault for leaving himself open to it.

Brown eyes look at him again. They're dark with confusion and pain and regret and numerous other things that Sousuke can't name.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

The words are painful. Sousuke wishes he'd just _go_ , while another part of him thinks to do something as irrational as grabbing Ichigo and refusing to let him leave. He wonders offhand if this is anything like what Urahara must have felt when he realized he'd broken the only good thing in his life.

Ichigo must have heard his unspoken plea because he rises awkwardly to his feet.

"I should go."

Sousuke doesn't know what to say that. Yes or please stay. His reactions are split right down the middle, so he takes the logical route. He says nothing and just dips his head.

Ichigo half-turns to him, looking like he might say something more. Instead, he whirls on his heel and slips around the couch, making a beeline toward the door. His pace isn't quite a run but close enough.

He doesn't say anything else when he leaves, just the quiet click of the door behind him. Sousuke is left in the silence of his quarters, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd held. He unclenches his fingers and stares at his unadorned wall, one he hadn't gotten around to decorating yet.

A part of him had always suspected something like this would happen. Part of him had always been aware of the possibility.

But knowing this was long in coming doesn't make Sousuke feel any less used.


	44. Between

"Ichigo?"

He pauses midstep and inwardly curses. This is _not_ what he needs right now. But it figures that Kisuke would have the worse timing. Somehow, it just makes senses that things would happen this way.

Ichigo sighs and turns around slowly. He finds Kisuke stepping out of a doorway, one that Ichigo remembers connects to one of the many libraries.

"Hey," Ichigo greets, deciding to play it casual. "Missed you at dinner."

Kisuke, of all things, looks embarrassed. "I was... indisposed," he says and rocks on his heels, a habit he's never had before. Almost like he's nervous. "It's pretty late. I'm surprised you're not sleeping." His eyes are darting around, looking at Ichigo and then glancing past him. As if he's looking for something – or some _one_ – in particular.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Since when have I had a normal sleep schedule?" Ichigo questions, and his voice is a bit too bitter.

The scientist gives a half-smile, which is shades better than the disconsolate expression he's been wearing as of late. He shifts awkwardly though and cranes his neck.

"You have a point." Kisuke steps completely into the hallway and closes the distance between them. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Ichigo says, or grits out rather because his emotions are a mess and he doesn't want it to show. Doesn't want Kisuke to see all the nasty feelings churning inside of him.

Kisuke winces at the sharpness of his tone. "No, you're not," he murmurs and exhales audibly. "But I've lost the right to ask, haven't I?"

Something... breaks. Ichigo doesn't know how else to describe it. He snaps. Growls with annoyance. Throws his hands into the air.

"See this?" he says, gesturing between himself and Kisuke as though there were any doubt. "This right here is not helping! You slinking around isn't making things any easier either!"

They sound like the words of a crazy man, hardly connected to their conversation. But Sousuke's face is in the back of his mind, full of betrayal, and right now, Kisuke's expression nearly mirrors it. They both want something from him, and there's only one of Ichigo, not nearly enough to go around.

Kisuke looks confused... and more worried than before. He dares another step closer.

"What do you mean?"

Ichigo turns away, rubbing his forehead where an ache is steadily building. One that pulses and throbs throughout his entire being.

"Nothing. Never mind. You should get some sleep, too," he replies with every intention of walking away. Desperately needing some peace and quiet and alone time, where he can think and let his brain run in endless circles all on its own.

His former lover, however, is not content to let him slip away.

"Ichigo-"

He stops. "What?"

"I was looking for you yesterday."

Ichigo sucks in a breath, slow and careful, steadying himself. He doesn't dare turn around.

"I was busy."

There's a moment where he expects Kisuke to slink away since it's what he's been good at as of late. Kisuke, however, shifts his weight. His response comes so quietly that Ichigo has to strain to hear it.

"In other words, get out of my life, you've had your chance."

Which is not exactly what Ichigo meant.

Guilt piles on top of the exasperation, the impatience, the confusion, swirling with the guilt already present. And isn't that grand? Ichigo's doing a fine job of hurting everyone around him lately.

He turns back around, slower this time. Ichigo can spare a minute.

"That's not what I meant."

"No?" Kisuke straightens his shoulders, looking less like a man defeated but still like he is already expecting to be disappointed. He comes closer and lowers his tone. "I've apologized. I've given you answers. I've stood here and watched while you pair up with _Aizen_ -" His name is spoken with so much loathing "I know I have no right to demand anything of you, but I need to know where I stand. Because right now, all I see is that if I vanished, you'd be happier for it."

Something clenches inside Ichigo's chest, a stab of tangible pain. His words catch in his throat. He looks at Kisuke and once again sees his face overlain by Sousuke's quiet resignation. So similar and yet not. Full of the same disappointment.

Following it is a realization that makes Ichigo want to kick himself. He's hurting them both, all while claiming to be hurt himself. This has ended up fair for no one. But maybe all of them deserve it. Kisuke for his lies. Sousuke for his betrayals. And Ichigo for never being strong enough to save anyone. Least of all himself.

Kisuke exhales slowly. "I see." His eyes cut away.

"No, you don't," Ichigo argues, stirring into motion, closing the distance between them. "Neither of you do. I feel like a bone between two dogs, and it's driving me crazy. I don't know what I want anymore."

Kisuke looks guilty again, like he might apologize. After all, it's his fault, isn't it? That's what everyone's saying, even Ichigo himself. Except now he's starting to think he might have overreacted just a tad.

"Ichigo-"

He kisses him. A part of him sighs in relief at the familiar taste and touch. He kisses Kisuke because he doesn't know, doesn't know how to begin figuring it out. He kisses Kisuke because he wants to, because he misses the man who was first his mentor, then his friend, then something a lot more.

Ichigo kisses Kisuke for a lot of reasons. The guilt gnawing at his insides. A half-believed prayer that he might get some answers this way.

To his utter relief, Kisuke doesn't reject him. Doesn't punch him in the face or push him away. He returns the kiss, mouth moving gently against Ichigo's, silently requesting entrance. His reiatsu buzzes with confusion and relief. Ichigo allows it and parts his lips, letting Kisuke in, loving the taste of Kisuke on his tongue. Reminding him that everything is familiar. That he's been missing this. That Kisuke kisses nothing like Sousuke-

Ichigo's throat closes up on him. He gasps, breaking off suddenly. His heart is racing, breath a sharp stutter, and the guilt crashes over him again.

"I have to make a choice," Ichigo says and forces himself to watch as disappointment replaces the hope building in Kisuke's eyes. "I don't know if I can do that."

Kisuke looks like's been punched in the stomach. Which is appropriate. Ichigo feels a lot like he'd delivered the blow.

"But-"

Ichigo shakes his head. "I can't right now."

It's the only answer he can give.

He turns and walks away, eager to put as much distance between them as he can manage. If Kisuke says anything else, Ichigo chooses not to hear it.

Suddenly, the palace with its hundred fold rooms and vast space is far, far too tiny. Ichigo feels trapped here. Like no matter where he goes, he won't be able to find that solitude he desperately needs, and it takes him a split-second to decide to leave the royal palace altogether. There's no gate yet – Kisuke's still working on that particular project – but a moment's thought from Ichigo is all it takes for one to open. It's not unlike the gates the Shinigami use to travel between Seireitei and the living world.

From there, standing on a rooftop in Soul Society – Ichigo thinks he's somewhere in Rukongai – he tries to choose a destination. But there's no one he'd feel comfortable talking to about this, and the last thing he wants is company. A distraction, yes. But company, no.

Pulling his reiatsu close to his body, refusing to let even a wisp escape, Ichigo heads deeper into Rukongai. He wanders without real direction, watching the oblivious population below him as they go about their daily business. Rukongai has always felt so far removed to Ichigo, but now, he supposes he'll have to pay closer attention. It's part of his "kingdom" after all.

Kingdom. Yeah.

Ichigo's still not completely at ease with that. For all that he's king now, he doesn't really feel different. Not any more powerful or smarter or suited. He feels out of his element, and this whole issue with Kisuke and Sousuke only proves that he has no clue what he's doing. If his personal life is such a mess, what does that speak of how well he'll do as king?

Ichigo sighs as he cruises through the fifty-fifth district. He watches a gang of kids play in the streets, bouncing a ball between them. In the distance, a Hollow's roar attracts his attention, but he can already sense a Shinigami moving to deal with it. A bit of concentration, and Ichigo can even identify the person – no one he's familiar with personally but this seems to be an added perk of being king.

He knows without having met the woman that she's a member of the ninth division and the twentieth seat. She's calm and logical but doesn't have the physical breadth of reiatsu to rise any higher. She also lacks ambition. It makes her a good soldier, but Ichigo doesn't anticipate her becoming anything more than her current seat.

Her companions, two men, are also from the ninth division. One brash and confident, the other nervously clutching his nameless sword, obviously the first time he's stepped on the battlefield. Ichigo can feel their zanpakutou, feel their potential. And he knows, if he concentrated a bit more, he could seal their abilities or even make them blossom.

He doesn't know why he knows this. Sometimes, it feels like the minute he took his mother's hand, a lifetime of memories were pressed into him. Like files of kingly duties and abilities that he subconsciously accesses on the spur of the moment.

Too bad that can't help him with his personal issues.

Suddenly, Ichigo doesn't want to be in Soul Society. The past half a year seems all too short. The time spent in college pretending he hadn't spent a good portion of his teen years fighting Hollows is all too long ago. He can't remember the last time he felt human, as weird as that may sound.

Just like before, it takes only an ounce of concentration, and Ichigo opens a gate between Soul Society and the living world. He steps from one plane of existence into the other within a blink of an eye to find himself hovering over Karakura. A pang of nostalgia hits him deep, and Ichigo sucks in a ragged breath.

He'll miss this life, he realizes. And wonders why it hadn't occurred to him before. Before, when Kisuke had asked him if he was sure this was what he wanted. Before, when Sousuke had first presented the opportunity. Ichigo can't go back. Not anymore.

He drops from the sky to the ground. He walks invisible amongst the living populace, taking familiar streets to a familiar side of Karakura. He wonders if his professors noticed his sudden disappearance. He wonders if his friends were even aware of what's going on. Damn, but Ichigo can't even remember the last time he talked to Ishida or Chad or Inoue. He'd probably stun them all if they even knew half of what he'd be doing over the past six months or so.

Kisuke's shouten is empty. He notices as he stops by the building, expanded senses revealing nothing but trace elements of reiatsu. Heading inside through doors left unlocked, he can see that all the rooms have been packed, belongings taken and moved. Left behind are slightly dusty cases that are stocked with abandoned candies.

Tessai and the kids probably returned to Soul Society the moment Kisuke's exile was lifted. Ichigo wonders where they've taken up residence now. It occurs to him that he never bothered to ask.

Ichigo leaves the shop and hits the sidewalk again, shoving his hands in his pockets. The night sky is lit up with stars, and at some point, he'll need to get some sleep. He just doesn't want to return yet.

He heads home. Not to the royal palace but to the first place he ever considered home. Standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the house and attached clinic, he's bothered by how very still and silent it is. The mailbox is stuffed full since no one's been here in at least a month to claim it.

Ichigo doesn't have his house key. Luckily, he doesn't need it. Nice to be able to phase through walls if he puts his mind to it.

The Kurosaki house hasn't been cleared out like the shop, but it's obvious no one's been here in a while. His dad and sisters have all but moved to Seireitei, taking Kon with them. Kisuke's promised to build Kon a body of his own eventually, somewhere in the midst of all the other projects he's been working on.

Isshin's found his place as a member of the re-instituted royal guard. Ichigo can't count the number of times he's found his mother and father staring at each other like a couple of love-sick puppies. He isn't even sure how that works what with Isshin being a Shinigami and Masaki being sorta-dead. But they're happy, so Ichigo doesn't question.

Karin and Toushirou have been attached at the hip, his sister quite loudly stating her intentions to stay. Toushirou knows better than to argue, and Ichigo has learned not to deny her anything. Ichigo strongly suspects to hear wedding bells on their horizon.

Meanwhile, Yuzu has found a home in the fourth division. Unohana-san utterly adores her, and she and Hanatarou have become fast friends. Perhaps more if rumors are to be believed.

Ichigo climbs the stairs and finds himself in his old bedroom, classic shades of blue meeting his eyes. The furniture is unchanged for his absence. It's mostly empty of belongings since his stuff is still at his apartment, but there are still a few things that remind him of home here. His Quincy bedspread – Ishida's idea of a joke – still adorns the bed.

Weary, he plants himself down on the mattress, kicks off his shoes, and folds his arms behind his bed. He stares up at a familiar ceiling. Remembering years spent looking at this same ceiling, contemplating the many wonders of the universe. Hating himself for being unable to save his mother. Wishing he was strong enough to protect his sisters. Wondering what the future would hold for him.

If he could talk to his juvenile self today, Ichigo has no clue what he'd say. To try and tell his old self the truth without coming off like a complete lunatic would be enormously complicated. It's unbelievable.

To think that he and Kisuke have gone from master and student, to close friends, to something a bit more in such a short span of time. Ichigo's pretty sure he couldn't have expected that either.

His anger about Kisuke's concealed truths has pretty much vanished itself from his thoughts. Oh, he'd been furious at first. He'd cultivated that anger for many weeks following. Not because Ichigo couldn't trust Kisuke anymore, but because Kisuke hadn't trusted _him_. Now, Ichigo understands why it's hard to say. Why Kisuke had worried and hesitated and kept things to himself.

After Yoruichi-san split with her usual tactlessness and with his exile still in effect, while Ichigo was wallowing with his own problems, Kisuke had been all but alone. Little contact with others outside of Tessai and the kids. No wonder Ichigo's visits had been so cheerfully anticipated. Kisuke had quickly become Ichigo's closest companion, his last tenuous connection to the Shinigami.

Now they are – _were?_ – something more. Something like lovers, though neither of them had explicitly stated it. Ichigo had reached out for comfort, and Kisuke had given it. Afterward, Ichigo enjoyed Kisuke's attentions. He enjoyed reciprocating for that matter. He genuinely likes Kisuke and suspects that if circumstances hadn't sped up matters they would've happened in their own time regardless.

At least, Kisuke _understands._ He's been there from the beginning. He's seen the broken and pathetic, bloody mess that Byakuya had left Ichigo in. He's watched Ichigo battle his Hollow countless times. He knows why Ichigo struggles to find his place, why he can't settle happily in the living world and why he doesn't much care for Soul Society either.

But…

He's also overprotective for all of those reasons. Sometimes, he forgets that Ichigo's not the ignorant teenager he was all those years ago. Sometimes, Kisuke thinks that Ichigo needs to be coddled, that he needs to be protected. It's as endearing as it is annoying.

So yes, Ichigo's forgiven him. Yes, Ichigo would like to return to Kisuke's bed. He misses sleeping next to Kisuke, the scent of the man surrounding him, the familiar curl of their reiatsu together. He misses Kisuke's charm and humor, his easygoing personality. He misses Kisuke's quirkiness and his occasional bursts of tactlessness. He misses blond hair brushing against his face and the taste of Kisuke as he laughs into Ichigo's mouth.

Ichigo misses it all. He wants Kisuke _back_.

But that would mean abandoning Sousuke. Turning his back on the traitor turned enemy turned – against all odds – _friend_ and now something a little extra. Not quite lovers as they haven't gotten there yet, but still, the potential is there. The potential is burning inside of Ichigo to follow through. Demanding. Begging him to just do something.

The attraction is there; Ichigo can't ignore it. So is the curiosity. He also can't help the guilt. That if he abandons Sousuke now, it'll be all the proof anyone needs that Ichigo was just using him. Which Ichigo hadn't intended, which he doesn't want to do. He wants it to be more, but in order for there to be more, Ichigo would have to turn his back on Kisuke.

Who he misses. Who he's beginning to suspect he might even love.

Argh.

Anyone looking would think the answer should be simple. Sousuke is the traitorous bastard. The murderous backstabber who tried to take over Soul Society and only lives thanks to Unohana-san's affection. He's supposed to be the epitome of evil, everything that Ichigo should despise.

Except that he doesn't.

He shouldn't trust Sousuke, but a large part of Ichigo does. What can the powerless ex-overlord do now? Ichigo already knows that the world is sentient in part and would reject Sousuke, who's also smart enough to realize this already. What purpose would Sousuke have in hurting Ichigo?

Maybe he's lying like everyone seems to believe. Maybe his intentions have never been pure. Maybe he despises his powerlessness and seeks to get revenge on Ichigo by smothering him in his sleep, but honestly, Ichigo doesn't believe that.

He trusts Sousuke not to stab him in the back. He doesn't trust Sousuke with other things, not just yet, but his safety? Yes, Ichigo can trust him that far.

He'll admit to himself that he likes Sousuke. The former traitor doesn't treat Ichigo with kiddie gloves, and he has a great deal of insight about the human psyche and politics, both of which Ichigo fails dismally at. Somehow, Ichigo has managed to wrangle a near-army of friends and supporters, but he doesn't know _how_ he did it or if he could replicate it. Sousuke undoubtedly could though.

Sousuke's also calm and patient, and when relaxed, he has his own sense of humor. He's charming when he wants to be, unfailingly polite, and Yuzu _adores_ him. Which is pretty much a defining factor in Ichigo's book. Karin even seems to tolerate him, amazing since her boyfriend has been plotting homicide for years by this point.

Ichigo's sure there's more to discover as well. More beneath the defensive layers that Sousuke has built around himself. Necessary layers to be fair, but still, Ichigo wants to see beneath them. Ichigo wants to _know_ Sousuke; he's intrigued by him.

But if he lets himself be drawn to Sousuke, he can't in good conscience remain with Kisuke. Ichigo fears that if he leans one way, he'll always be drawn to the opposite direction.

Yet, the fact remains that a choice must be made.

o0o0o

Morning comes, and after a long restless night of half-sleep, Ichigo resigns himself to returning. He's king, and he can't in good conscience abandon that role for much longer than a day. Especially not for his own personal problems.

Still, he wanders around Seireitei for a bit before his path takes him back to the beginning. Maybe not the entire beginning but at least the point where his reign over Soul Society began.

He arrives at the first division, successfully slips around any nearby members, and makes his way to the near-hidden fountain. Its location is still a relative secret until some kind of protection measures can be installed. Which is a good thing since it means privacy for Ichigo.

It's still covered in dust and dead leaves, the same feeling of forgotten abandonment permeating the air. It seems like much longer than a couple of weeks since Ichigo had stood here, watching Sousuke use the key and open the doorway to the underground cavern. It feels like lifetimes ago since he first let Rukia introduce him to the Shinigami and their world.

Ichigo strides over to what's left of the fountain. Since taking up residence in the palace, the opening has sealed itself over, making the whole structure look unstable and broken. He sits on the lip of it. The sun is warm and pleasant, soaking into his skin, making him feel a bit less strung out.

He closes his eyes, leans forward on his knees, and lets his thoughts wander. Settling on nothing in particular, resigned to the fact there's no solution to his present situation. At least, no solution that won't end up hurting _someone_.

"Everyone's looking for you, you know," a voice cuts into Ichigo's thoughts. "All of Seireitei's in a panic."

He looks up, squinting in the sunlight, and recognizes Lisa as she approaches. Her new haori flutters in the breeze.

How had she found him?

Ichigo snorts, sitting back and stretching his legs out in front of him. "I've been gone a day."

"Yeah, well, you're the king. You can't just vanish and assume no one will give a damn." She's grinning as she sits next to him, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "Where did ya go?"

"Nowhere." He shrugs, toe idly scraping at the cracked and brittle paving. "I just wanted to be alone."

Lisa nods companionably. "Ah, without the influence of your two suitors I take it."

Ichigo feels no need to respond to that. His personal troubles are already common knowledge it seems. How embarrassingly fantastic.

"Man trouble. I can relate," Lisa continues all on her own.

Ichigo looks at her, one eyebrow raised. Experience had shown him that monogamy and fidelity are not high on Lisa's priority list. Or even on it at all. She may be like Shunsui, but that's one thing where they really differ.

"Don't look at me like that," she says, but she doesn't sound offended. "I might be... free with my affections, but I know a thing or two about relationships."

Ichigo snorts again and leans back on his hands, closing his eyes to the sun warmth bathing his face. "And I'm sure you know all about what's going on in my lovelife."

"Who doesn't?" Lisa snickers, and there's the sound of rustling as though she's making herself comfortable. "We've even got a bet on who it's gonna be."

"A bet?" he asks skeptically.

"Yeah. Though I'm not going to tell you who started it or who's winning." Lisa sounds smug. "So what exactly is it that's got you out here, all frowny face and hiding?"

Ichigo makes a face. When she says it like that, everything sounds juvenile to him. Like Ichigo's a child for making a big deal out of this or something.

"You wouldn't understand." He sighs and opens his eyes, watching a cloud creep across the blue sky.

"Try me."

He lowers his head, rolls his shoulders, tries to gather his thoughts together. "You already know what happened, right?"

"What? About you breaking beds with Ki-chan?" She says it with such a straight face, too.

Ichigo winces. "If you have to put it that way-"

"And now you're boinking Aizen, too," Lisa continues, overriding his comment with her usual lack of tact. "Then, yes, I know."

" _Too_ wouldn't exactly be accurate," Ichigo counters with a huff.

Lisa waves a hand through the air. "Semantics. What's your point?"

"What's my...?" Ichigo's brow furrows with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Your point?" Lisa replies and twirls a finger through the air, as though Ichigo's a particularly dumb kid who just doesn't get why two plus two equals four. "You just admitted to having sexual relations with two very attractive, very skilled men – I should know after all. I'm failing to see the problem here."

Ichigo's mouth works soundlessly. He's not sure how he's supposed to respond to that.

"The problem should be obvious!"

Lisa looks at him boredly, balancing her chin on her knuckles as her elbow rests on her knee. "Yeah? Cause it isn't. Sounds to me like you're just complaining about your good fortune in snagging two of Seireitei's most desired."

Ichigo splutters. "That _is_ the problem" he declares, hands waving wildly before bringing two fingers up. "Two! There's two of them!"

She just looks at him. Like she honestly doesn't get it.

"And?"

"I have to _choose_ ," Ichigo all but shouts. He feels his face turning red as the words pour out of him. "Choose between them. On the one hand, I've got Kisuke who I've known for years. On the other, I've got Sousuke who used to be my mortal enemy but now... _isn't._ "

He slumps, exhaustion winning out, reminded of the difficulty of his current situation. And here he had stupidly believed Lisa might be able to help. He should've known she wouldn't be able to understand. She's… _Lisa_. Like Shunsui. Only without any sort of filter between brain and mouth and no sense of decorum at all. Not to mention her tendency to blurt out embarrassing things at any moment because she feels like it and delights in mortifying everyone around her.

Monogamy or anything remotely similar isn't something she'll get.

"Who says you have to choose?" she says then and actually sounds serious. Like she's treating this as a real problem with a real solution that he hasn't considered.

Ichigo's instantly taken aback. "... _What_?"

She shrugs, rising to her feet and stretching her arms above her head. "Date both of them." She pauses to strip out of her captain's haori and put it on the dusty fountain. You don't have to promise exclusivity, and it's not like you've already proposed marriage, right? So just date them both."

Ichigo stares at her. Actually stares. Like she's suddenly spouted another head, wings, and maybe some horns.

"I can't do that," he replies blankly.

"Why not?" Rolling her neck in a series of stretches, Lisa looks perfectly composed.

"Because things don't work that way!" Ichigo splutters, hands waving wildly. "You can't just be with two people at the same time!"

"Who says?" Lisa snorts and flicks hair out of her eyes.

Ichigo's brow furrowed. "It's not normal," he argues. "That kind of thing doesn't work."

"I repeat myself: who says?" Her hands plant on her hips as she stares at him. "The same people who claim it's impossible to love two people at the same time? The kind of people who hold onto outdated beliefs about their sexuality?"

Ichigo stares right back at her. "It..." He pauses and shakes his head. "It's not a viable option."

"Why not?"

Damn, but Lisa can be tenacious when she thinks she's right.

Ichigo sighs, frustrated. "Well, for one thing, they hate each other. They'd never agree to it."

"But if they did?"

"If they did, it still wouldn't matter," he retorts, throwing up his hands and rising to his feet. He can feel Lisa's eyes on him as she watches him pace. "It wouldn't be fair to them."

Lisa sniffs and lets her hands fall from her hips. "It's not fair now," she points out, sounding so damn logical. "No matter who you choose, you'll always feel guilty for not picking the other one, and whoever is left out will be hurt by it."

Yes, Ichigo is well aware of that fact. Thus the reason he is having such a hard time with this. Thus the reason he's been hiding in the first division, thoughts turning around in continuous circles without end.

"Then what would I tell everyone?" Ichigo demands. If she's got this all figured out, let her explain _that_ one.

Shrugging, Lisa flippantly waves him off. "You don't owe anyone an explanation for your personal life. That's your choice to make. It's up to you who you want to tell." She smirks, humor dancing in her eyes. "And by now, anyone who matters has probably already figured it out."

"It'll make us a laughing stock," Ichigo mutters.

"Then again," Lisa says slowly, holding a hand to her chin as her eyes darken with thought. "You could always choose neither of them and hurt everyone. I suppose that would be fair."

Ichigo freeze mid-pace, something wrenching painfully inside of him. He sucks in a breath, puts a hand to his chest, and forces himself to breathe evenly. The thought of doing this _alone_ , of abandoning Kisuke and Sousuke completely... that's even less appealing than trying to make some kind of... what? Trinity? Triad? Threesome?

Whatever the hell it is. It can't work. It's impossible. No one can split their attention like that. It just doesn't work. It's nowhere near easy, only more complications. Which means he needs to choose, but he can't do that. Is it really less painful to try to have both?

"You're forgetting another part of this equation."

Ichigo half-turns, eying Lisa warily. "What?"

"Their opinions, of course." She taps her chin with her pointer finger. "It involves them as much as it involves you, doesn't it?"

His shoulders slump. "You have a point."

"Of course I do," Lisa replies with the air of someone who feels she's never wrong. "I always-"

She cuts off as one of Seireitei's messengers suddenly appears in the courtyard, kneeling before her. "Yadomaru-taichou."

Lisa rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. _Big_ meeting. Tell the old man I'll be there shortly." She waves her hand in dismissal.

"Yes, ma'am." The masked messenger is gone in another flash.

Ichigo arches his brow. "Old man?"

"He's probably gonna organize a search party or something." Lisa smirks. "Should I just tell him you're hiding about a hundred feet out his back door?"

"No." Ichigo feels his cheeks heat. "I'll go back."

"Good." Lisa nods to herself, smugness radiating from her pores. "You do that. I'm going to attend this meeting. And remember what I said."

"I don't think I could forget."

Lisa's laugh is swept up on the wind as she snatches up her haori and leaps onto the nearest roof, heading for the large meeting hall. And apparently, a meeting amongst the captains who have gotten themselves in a tizzy over Ichigo's absence.

Shaking his head, Ichigo closes his eyes and sucks in a slow, steady breath. He does have to go back. He can't just run away from the problem. He has to choose. Or he can believe Lisa and actually give dating both of them a try.

Ichigo snorts.

It sounds crazy to him, but there's an element of truth in Lisa's suggestions. This _does_ concern both of them. He can't decide, so that really only leaves him with two choices: either he ends it with both of them, or he lets them decide if a more liberal approach might work.

All Ichigo can do is present the opportunity. He'll leave it to Sousuke and Kisuke to decide.

What the hell, right? It's not like he can make things any _worse_.

* * *


	45. Rivals

His return doesn't go unnoticed, despite all of Ichigo's attempts to sneak in without catching anyone's eye. The moment he appears in a corridor, he's instantly besieged by ghostly servants. Silently asking him how they can help, what they can do to make things easier. Silently wondering why he would run away, begging that he doesn't do it again.

They need him. They need him, and they reach for him, and Ichigo's the only one who can really hear them. Can take their hands or clap them on the shoulder or offer a meaningful thank you.

Guilt claws its way on top of all the other emotions that are weighing on Ichigo's heart. And it's only Gin's timely intervention that saves him from succumbing to it.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo apologizes out loud, trying to catch as many eyes as shifting expressions will let him. "It won't happen again."

"Damn right, it won't." Gin's voice appears behind him. "It ain't polite ta run off without at least tellin' someone, yer majesty."

Ichigo winces and turns around. The title, rarely used between them, is as much a chastisement as it is a step back into politics.

"I had my reasons."

"I'm sure ya did," Gin says and stops just in front of him, hands folded into his sleeves. "But ya can't forget that people depend on ya now either."

Drooping, Ichigo rakes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know."

"Good." Gin threads an arm through Ichigo's, causing him to stumble as he suddenly pulls Ichigo down an adjoining hallway. "Now that I'm done chastisin' ya, ya look in need of a bath and some food."

"But-"

Gin shakes his head firmly, giving Ichigo an askance look. "I can guess why ya left, Ichi-kun. I'm not blind or deaf. Ya can figure that stuff out after ya look a bit more human."

"Told you we could have been friends." Ichigo lets a smile flit onto his lips.

Gin snorts. "Yeah, well don't tell anyone. It'll hurt my image."

"Any more than it already is?" Ichigo arches a brow.

Nudging him with a shoulder in mock-offense, Gin scoffs. "Ya know what I mean."

"I do," Ichigo replies. "Thanks."

Gin looks at him and smiles. "Anytime."

o0o0o

It's an hour later before Gin deems him acceptable for meeting with anyone else. Ichigo has bathed, changed his clothes, and wolfed down a meal. He feels physically better even if his thoughts are yet churning inside him.

It's now or never, and he asks Gin to find both Kisuke and Sousuke for him. He could push this off until later, but honestly, Ichigo would rather get it over and done with. He wants to lay the decision at their feet, let them decide what would be better. He doesn't want any more sleepless nights.

Sousuke is the first to arrive. He seems both confused and worried as Ichigo opens the door for him.

"Ichigo?" He frowns. "Is everything all right?"

"For the most part," Ichigo says with a heavy sigh. "I'll explain in a minute. Go ahead and have a seat."

Sousuke looks as if he might question him further but then changes his mind, inclining his head and taking a seat on Ichigo's couch. He looks uncomfortable, body rigid, hands folded in his lap. He probably thinks Ichigo is going to call things off. Well, he's both right and wrong.

Frankly, Ichigo's not sure the option he's about to give either of them is any better.

Kisuke arrives less than a minute later, reiatsu swirling with anxiety and dark circles ringing his eyes. He goes to throw his arms around Ichigo, probably for a hug, but Ichigo sidesteps him. Can't show favoritism. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Ichigo...?"

Kisuke hesitates, a troubled look in his eyes.

Once again, Ichigo can only shake his head. "Sit down. I promise I'll explain."

Mercifully, Kisuke doesn't press or argue. He simply enters Ichigo's room and heads for the couch. Only to pause and stare once he sees Sousuke already sitting there.

The two former enemies trade pointedly noncharitable looks – lacking some of the venom their previous encounters had carried but unkind none the less. Kisuke is thunderous, as though he might object. Sousuke's mouth is a thin, displeased line.

Kisuke whirls around, a protest on his lips, which Ichigo quickly cuts off with a firm shake of his head.

"Sit," he says and realizes it came out short and commanding. "Please."

Huffing, Kisuke reluctantly does, though Ichigo notes that it is on the opposite end from Sousuke. As far as they can physically get without sitting on the arms or getting up from the couch altogether. Feelings of discord and loathing practically radiate from their tense frames as the two grown men exchange mutual glances of intense dislike before focusing on Ichigo with ironically matching looks of curiosity, concern, and desire.

Ichigo sighs.

This isn't going to work. That much is pretty obvious. They can't even stand being in the same room together. Sharing is an impossibility.

He half-turns, rubbing fingers across his forehead. He should've known better than to listen to Lisa. Some things can't be solved. That's the reality of the situation. It's better if Ichigo just ends things now. With both of them. They, all three, can be miserable apart.

Sousuke is the first to break the silence. "Ichigo," he says almost hesitantly, which in itself is unusual. "Where did you go?"

Ichigo's hand drops from his forehead. He turns to face the both of them, staring at the noticeable distance between them.

"Here and there," he answers and makes a vague gesture. "Down to the living world. Out to Rukongai. I just wandered. I needed to think. I needed to be alone."

"Why?" Kisuke this time, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, expression open and intent.

Ichigo considers dancing around the issue. But he's never been good at conversational subterfuge and being blunt has always worked best for him. He doesn't know any other way.

His shoulders slump. "Because I had to choose and I couldn't do that here."

Ichigo risks a glance at them, but both of their expressions are now unreadable. Sousuke has vanished behind his usual mask, face set with composure. Understanding has dawned in Kisuke's eyes, but he's pulling into himself as well. Prepared for an inevitable rejection perhaps.

"Choose," Sousuke repeats lowly. He straightens and draws from an infinite well of composure. "And what did you choose, Ichigo? Or should I say, _whom_?"

Two pairs of eyes focus on Ichigo, putting him on the spot. He feels like sinking into the floor as he admits the strange solution he'd decided upon.

"Neither of you," Ichigo says and then squares his shoulders, firming his resolve. " _Both_ of you."

Silence descends in his bedroom as the two stare at him, almost as though they believe he's lost his mind. The blond looks more confused, reiatsu an anxious swirl, and Sousuke has furrowed his brow.

"I... I'm not sure what you mean," Kisuke says carefully.

Ichigo circles around the coffee table – which has served as an effective barrier – and plops down on it, so he can look both of them in the eye. Ironically, they've shifted more toward the middle to make this easier for him. Inadvertently, they are now sitting closer to each other.

"It means," Ichigo replies, "that I'm incapable of choosing. I'd rather be alone than make that decision."

Sousuke frowns. "What _exactly_ are you suggesting?"

Here, Ichigo's confidence falters. He feels his face burn crimson at mere thought of the absurd idea.

"I want both of you," Ichigo blurts out, gaze darting between Sousuke and Kisuke. "At the same time. Not necessarily the two of you together because I _know_ that's impossible. But together with me."

More silence ripples outward. Ichigo sits on the coffee table with bated breath, feeling like he's standing on a razor-sharp edge.

Kisuke holds up a hand. "Just so we're clear... are you suggesting that we – Aizen and I – share you?"

"Yeah." Ichigo clasps his hands together. "Either both of you or neither of you. I can't choose."

Twin expressions of speechlessness meet his gaze. Well, at least there's no outrage or outright fury. No one's exploded yet. They've not called him an outright fool.

"This," Sousuke pauses as if gathering control of himself. "Are you _sure_?"

Ichigo leans forward. "I didn't say it would be easy. I'm not blind or stupid. You two hate each other. There's only one of me. There _will_ be issues, but..." He huffs, frustrated.

"But you feel you have no other option," Kisuke finishes for him, surprisingly subdued.

Ichigo inclines his head. He fights not to stare at the wall beyond them and just give up on this conversation.

"Yeah." He exhales softly. "Look. I don't expect either of you to give me an answer right now. I want you to think about it seriously. Take some time."

"What if we can't agree?" Sousuke asks then.

Ichigo spreads his hands. "Then that's it. We'll go on as friends and nothing more. _All_ of us." He means what he says. Either both of them or neither. Unless of course one of them decides that he doesn't want to be with Ichigo anyway. Which isn't outside the realm of possibility.

Kisuke and Sousuke exchange a short, awkward glance. Obviously weighting their options. The look is barely their usual heated loathing, but it falls vastly short of respect and doesn't dance near affection.

Pushing himself to his feet, Ichigo puts some much needed space between them and himself. He circles back around the table, fatigue crowding at the edges of his mind.

"Anyway," he says loudly, firmly. "That's what I wanted to say. So please think about it." He doesn't turn to look at them; he _can't_. "And it's late so we should all get some sleep."

The couch creaks. "You're right," Kisuke inserts, still oddly subdued. Well, of course he would be. Nothing about this situation is ideal, is it? "Will we see you at breakfast?"

"Yeah." Ichigo tugs at his sleeves, part of him wishing they'd just leave. Another part of him wanting to beg they stay. "I'm not vanishing again. I promise."

"I believe you."

The blond pauses for another moment, as though carefully considering what he's going to say, and Ichigo hates that their relationship has come to that. Skating on thin ice, treading on slick ground.

"Good night, Ichigo."

"Sleep well," Sousuke adds, tone carefully controlled as always. Just as awkward as their growing friendship was in the beginning. All that progress lost in a flash.

They let themselves out, door clicking quietly behind them. Only then does Ichigo let himself slump into the nearest piece of furniture. He inhales shakily, exhales with even less control, and closes his eyes.

His quarters are too quiet, too empty. And all Ichigo has to look forward to is cold sheets and a lonely bed.

And unless Sousuke and Kisuke can agree, it's all Ichigo will have waiting for him for years to come. A thought which is both unsettling and depressing.

Ichigo's fingers rub across his chest. The ache is building there again. But he doesn't want to sleep in that huge bed alone.

He sighs, knocking his head against the back of his chair. It's going to be a long night.

o0o0o

The following days pass in a blur. He buries himself in his kingly duties, if only to stop thinking endlessly on the decision he's given them. He duteously attends to his paperwork and responsibly meets with all those who request an audience. He oversees some of the rebuilding in Seireitei and wanders through Rukongai, resolving to make it less of a slum and more of a place someone would choose to live.

Aside from awkward meals, he spends very little time with either of them. Ichigo lets Gin take over communication between he and Sousuke regarding his schedule. Ichigo doesn't want to speak to them for fear he'll do something stupid. Like beg them to say yes.

It's practice for when they come to him and explain why this won't ever work. Why they can't agree with his absurd solution. Eventually, he'll stop feeling so alone. Eventually, the nights won't be so long. He's done fine by himself before; he can do it again.

Ichigo's never realized how good at lying to himself he's become over the years though. It's a bit alarming, but then, it's not entirely unexpected either.

So he waits anxiously. And in the meantime, there are things to accomplish and responsibilities to meet.

o0o0o

Sousuke finds him between one meeting and the next, wandering aimlessly down a long corridor as he carefully reads through a proposal from Chamber 46. It sounds good in theory, but Ichigo's not taking any chances. He won't put his approval on anything unless he's sure he's covered all the bases.

Ichigo has sensed Sousuke coming. With the distance he's purposefully put between himself and them, Ichigo has come ridiculously skilled at being aware of their presence. Even Sousuke without his reiatsu. So he knows the brunet is there, but he waits for the other man to speak.

He tells himself that unless they bridge the gap, the rest is pointless. They'll have to make the first move. Ichigo refuses to push them into anything.

"Ichigo?"

He looks up, gives Sousuke his full attention, trying to ignore the way his heart increases in tempo and his breath catches. It just doesn't work.

"Yes?"

Sousuke looks tired. As though he hasn't managed a full night's sleep since their last conversation.

"A moment of your time?"

This is it.

Ichigo forces calm onto his face. "Sure." He glances around pointedly. "Here?"

"Here is fine," Sousuke allows, and he's right. The corridors are deserted, and the only ones likely to hear are the servants, who talk to only themselves and Ichigo. "I've thought about your proposal."

Ichigo shuffles the papers he's holding, desperate for something to do with his hands. "And?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Brown eyes look at him intently.

"Yeah," Ichigo confirms, relaxing marginally. If anything, the past week of loneliness has only strengthened his resolve to have both men in his life. "I'm sure."

Sousuke exhales audibly. "Then I wish to express my consent."

Sometimes, it's hell trying to get around Sousuke's wordage. Ichigo arches a brow.

"You're _agreeing_?" he questions, certain he must have heard wrong.

Sousuke nods sharply. "Yes," but he says it in such a way that it leaves no room for Ichigo to doubt. "However, if you expect me to display... affection toward Urahara then you are asking more than I can give."

Ichigo raises a hand. "No," he replies firmly. "All I'm asking is for toleration. For you to realize that I want to share my time, that I don't want to have to choose."

"That seems... fair."

It's not really. Ichigo knows this is ridiculously selfish of him, but a part of him feels he's owed one selfish thing. Isn't he?

Still, something inside of him breathes a sigh of relief, and the edging feeling of loneliness wisps away on the furthest edges. Sousuke has decided to stay. Now, hopefully, Kisuke can agree to the same.

Ichigo lifts his eyes, meeting Sousuke's gaze. It's carefully neutral, but somehow, Ichigo thinks he sees a flicker of hope.

"Thank you," he says, insides warming with an odd sort of glee. "I wasn't sure how I was going to wrangle the stubborn old goats without you."

The ex-overlord snorts a laugh. His following smile is warm enough to make Ichigo's belly and the tension it holds melt completely.

"Aiding you in political matters was never contingent upon our romantic relationship," he murmurs, but it's more amused than anything. "I'd never thought to earn something beyond friendship, truth be told."

"Yeah, well, I never expected that I'd start falling for the guy who's supposed to be my mortal enemy," Ichigo shoots back, finding it hard not to grin himself.

Sousuke tilts his head to the side. "I take it I'm no longer your much-hated foe?" But the way he shapes the words only shows that he already knows the answer

"I think you know that," Ichigo replies.

But he's distracted when one of the faceless servants materializes beside him, bringing with it a breath of reishi and a sense of urgency.

Not even Ichigo as the king knows who these ghosts are or who they used to be or even if they're male or female. He suspects that knowledge will come with time as he becomes more accustomed to his newfound abilities.

Ichigo sighs, hearing the servant's words like a brush against his mind, rather than something audible.

' _It_ _is_ _time_ _for_ _the_ _meeting,_ _Kurosaki-heika._ _Shihouin-sama_ _and_ _Hirako-sama_ _wait._ '

He fights back a sigh and roll of his eyes. No matter how many times he tells them to simply call him Ichigo, they always approach with _Kurosaki-heika._ He'll never get used to that. It's so frustrating.

And things had been going so damn well, too.

Sousuke, able to see the servant though he can't hear it, lifts a brow. "You are late for something, I take it?"

"Approaching tardiness but not quite there yet." Ichigo dismisses his servant with a wave. "Thanks. I'll be there in a minute."

A feeling of satisfaction and pride rolls out toward Ichigo before the nameless ghost vanishes again, fading into the light as though it had never been there at all. He'll never get used to that part either.

"It seems I've interrupted your busy day." Sousuke tips his head in a gesture of apology. "I have one more question, and then I'll let you get back to work."

Ichigo grins despite himself. "You'll let me?" he teases. "And honestly, I don't mind the distraction. Some of this shit is downright tedious."

"Even so..." The older man pauses, as though carefully choosing his words, something he does quite often. "What of Urahara?"

Running a hand through his hair, Ichigo takes care with his own response. Not wanting to seem as if he's leaning in one direction or the other.

"As soon as he's given me an answer, I'll let you both know. Until then, nothing's changed." He shrugs helplessly.

"Fair enough," Sousuke says with another tilt of his head. A bowing out so to speak as he accompanies it with a slow step backward. "I take my leave so that you can get back to your duties."

Ichigo stops him before he can get much further, his fingers curling around the long sleeve of Sousuke's robe. "You're not my servant," he says, letting his gaze roam up Sousuke's arm, across his shoulder, tracing the curve of his neck before landing on his face. "There are better ways to tell me you'll see me later."

He watches as comprehension flickers over Sousuke's face. A smile curves the man's lips, and then he leans forward, neatly closing the distance between them. Their lips meet in a kiss. Ichigo is the first to deepen it, swiping his tongue across the seam of Sousuke's mouth and begging entrance.

Sousuke grants him that favor, tasting like green tea on Ichigo's tongue. His mouth is warm and inviting, and his free hand reaches out, stroking down Ichigo's other arm.

The kiss is brief, as parting kisses are meant to be. Sousuke withdraws with a visible gleam in his eyes that makes Ichigo shiver.

"I'll see you at dinner," Sousuke murmurs as Ichigo releases his hold on his sleeve.

"See you then," Ichigo says and watches Sousuke turn down the hallway, off to do the numerous tasks he assigns himself on any given day.

Shaking his head, Ichigo starts off toward his own meeting. One down, one to go. He can only hope Kisuke is as agreeable.

o0o0o

It's two days later when Kisuke comes to him, against all odds, knocking on Ichigo's door first thing in the morning. He opens it to find a very solemn blond meeting his gaze, looking torn between fleeing for the hills and stubbornly staying where he stands.

"May I come in?" Kisuke asks, perfectly polite.

His eyes skip past Ichigo as though checking to ensure Sousuke isn't there before him. Ichigo can't read minds, not even as king, but it's pretty obvious what Kisuke's wondering.

"You're up early." Ichigo steps aside, giving him room to enter.

"Wasn't really sleeping," Kisuke answers, coming to a halt only a few steps inside, as if he feels he doesn't quite belong. "I decided now was as good as time as any to stop dithering around."

Closing the door, Ichigo leans against it and watches Kisuke closely. "And?"

"Aizen already gave his answer, didn't he?" The blond turns to face him.

"Yes."

"What was it?"

Ichigo's arms fold across his chest. "That's not how this works, Kisuke. I want you to tell me what you want before I let either of you know how it's going to be."

Grey-green eyes drop to the floor as Kisuke nibbles on his bottom lip. "I see."

"Why did you ask?" Ichigo tilts his head to the side. "Are you only going to answer depending on what Aizen wants?"

"No. I pretty much came to a decision already," Kisuke replies and shifts his weight, looking too young without the concealment of his hat. It's nice that he's chosen not to wear it.

Kisuke goes silent for a full minute, and Ichigo expects that he'll have to prompt him,. But before he can open his mouth Kisuke continues, his gaze lifting back to Ichigo.

"I want to say that I'll do it. I want to be by your side." He pauses, eyes darkening as his brow furrows. "But I'm no good at politics. I can't help you."

Ichigo sighs. He leans fully against his door and braces one foot against it. He'd suspected something like this.

"Has it occurred to you that dealing with laws and people isn't all I might need help with?"

The shopkeeper blinks at him, at a loss for words.

Shaking his head, Ichigo can't stop the amusement that curls his lips. "You built the gate I needed. You're already working on a better communication system for Seireitei. And the last time I checked, you had blueprints drawn for Kon's new body."

Kisuke's jaw all but drops. "How did you know?"

"I may not go to your lab – I tend to value my safety, you know – but it's not like I don't pay attention." Ichigo chuckles, some of his anxiety melting away. "I don't just want someone to help me rule, Kisuke. I want someone for the other things, too. Maybe I don't want to be _king_ all the time. Maybe sometimes, I just want to be Ichigo."

Comprehension dawns slowly but surely. Kisuke works his jaw for several long moments, coming to terms with Ichigo's admissions. Ichigo pushes himself off the door, closing some of the distance between them, relieved to see that the blond neither retreats nor shows that annoying guilt either.

"What I'm trying to say is... I do want you next to me." Ichigo lifts one hand and letting his fingers trail down Kisuke's shirt. "But only if you can accept someone will be standing on the other side."

Kisuke's breath catches; Ichigo can feel the hitch of it beneath his fingertips, the hesitant tremors to his reiatsu.

"Does that mean you forgive me?"

Ichigo barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. "I forgave you a long time ago," he puts in with a huff. "It's not like what you did was unforgivable."

"It certainly seemed that way," his lover murmurs.

"Yeah, well, things change." Ichigo gives Kisuke a pointed look. "But you're avoiding the subject. I need an answer, and I thought you came here to give me one."

Kisuke sighs. "I did. And I have one." He reaches up, taking Ichigo's hand, fingers idly rubbing over his palm. "I utterly despise Aizen," he says quietly, reiatsu buzzing against Ichigo's own. "But I love you more."

Ichigo stills, fingers of one hand still curling in Kisuke's shirt. It shouldn't come as news to him, but somehow, it does. The urge to reciprocate rises up inside him, but the words lodge in his throat. No, not yet. Too soon. He can't say it to both of them. So he'd best not say it at all.

"Please, don't agree for my sake," Ichigo says. "Or because you don't want to let Sousuke win. Or because you think you have no choice. Or-"

"Ichigo."

He clamps his mouth shut. He can't imagine being shaken by Kisuke's honest but obvious confession. And yet, Ichigo is.

Kisuke looks at him directly. "I'm saying yes because I want to be with you. Even if I have to share." He makes a face that Ichigo can only describe as childish. "Just don't expect me to _like_ Aizen."

"That would be stupid of me," Ichigo retorts. "I hope someday you two might be friends, but anything more is pushing it."

Kisuke makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. It perfectly displays his opinion of even being friends with Sousuke.

"Will you tell me Aizen's choice now?"

"You seem sure he's made one."

The shopkeeper huffs. "I may hate the bastard, but I know he's more decisive than I am," he admits with a sour tone.

Ichigo laughs. "You two are more alike than you realize."

"Please don't say that." His expression and tone are pained.

"But it's true." Ichigo laughs, loosening his hold on Kisuke's shirt but only to smooth his palm down Kisuke's chest. "I'll answer your question at breakfast."

Kisuke's bottom lip juts out. "But-"

Ichigo cuts him off with a kiss, and something inside him melts with relief. Loving the familiar taste of Kisuke on his lips, the comfortable tangling of their reiatsu. Reveling in his warmth as they press closer together.

"Let's go," Ichigo whispers against Kisuke's lips. "It's time for breakfast."

"If you insist," Kisuke replies, but it's with a smile. The light is back in his eyes where there had been only shadows before.

This is how it should be.

Ichigo's unable to stop his insides from warming, his heart from patting a happier beat. He feels like he's walking on clouds as Kisuke follows him down several hallways and into the dining room that Ichigo has claimed for their daily use. It's small compared to the official one with the huge table fit for a banquet, but Ichigo likes the smallness. It's more comfortable and cozy.

Inside, breakfast has been laid out and not unsurprisingly, Sousuke is already waiting for them. He's always the first to rise.

He looks up at their entrance, raising a brow. Probably noticing Kisuke's flush of happiness and the fact that Ichigo's not walking around like the world rests on his shoulders.

"I take it Urahara is amenable to your proposal?"

Ichigo takes a seat at the head of the small table – it seats six at best – with Sousuke on his left and Kisuke taking the empty chair at his right. For once, the level of animosity at the table is at an acceptable level.

"Yes," Ichigo confirms. "So that makes two of you. See? You _can_ agree on something."

He watches the two exchange a glance over the table, simultaneously assessing, measuring and forming opinions. There's a visible struggle, even from Sousuke. Obviously trying to come up with something civil and the sight of which reassures something inside of Ichigo.

Maybe this can work. Maybe it's not outside the realm of possibility.

"Agreement seems to be a matter of necessity now," Sousuke says slowly, gaze lowering to his food as he occupies his hands with serving himself from the delicious smelling fare spread across the table.

"It is, after all, what we signed up for," Kisuke adds, tone just as carefully constructed.

Ichigo watches them both for a long moment. "This isn't going to be easy, you know. I can't just say who gets me when. I don't know if I can handle the stress of trying to balancing things. I don't-"

"Ichigo," Kisuke says mildly as he spreads strawberry jam over a piece of toast. "Why are you trying to change our minds now? I thought you wanted this."

"I do. I just..."

Ichigo sighs, feeling tired, and more than a little confused. That they are both being so agreeable is throwing him for a loop. Plus, this could easily turn into a huge clusterfuck problem later. Maybe all he's doing is delaying the inevitable.

"It's complicated."

"No one says we have to figure it all out right now," Sousuke allows, looking perfectly composed as he sips from his usual morning cup of tea. "You could try letting things run their natural course."

Ichigo inhales and swallows his anxieties. Sousuke has a point. It's not like he has to sit here and hash out a schedule for the next ten years.

"You have time," Kisuke adds, and why does their sudden agreement make Ichigo so very worried? "All I want is to be with you. I'm sure Aizen feels the same. Work out the rest later."

Ichigo blinks.

Kisuke? The voice of reason? And without the subtle tone of loathing in his voice?

Ichigo feels a bit like he's awoke in the Twilight Zone.

"Eat your breakfast," Sousuke then says, heedless to Ichigo's amazement. "Your schedule is fully booked today."

Working his jaw for several long moments, Ichigo picks up his chopsticks. His eyes flick between them. But they're merely eating their own meals, the atmosphere lacking the usual undercurrent of tension.

Huh. Maybe this _can_ work.

It seems to be off to a fairly decent start at least.


	46. Interlude Nine: Year Zero

Shinji's the one to pick out her dress, but Nel supposes it's okay since she picks everything else. Including what Ichigo will wear when he marries them. The only one she isn't dressing is Sousuke-san, but she actually trusts his judgment.

It's a strange thing really. To be on such familiar terms with the man who for all intents and purposes is her creator. At least the man who made her what she is. A thinking Hollow. An Arrancar who's so human now her mask is almost gone and her hole is vanished.

Of course, there's a difference between familiar and familial, and if Shinji has his way, Sousuke-san will be both along with the rest of their not-so-little and ever expanding group. Lisa has already paired off, and don't think that she doesn't see all those butterfly messages that Hachi's been getting. Not to mention Ichigo and his love triangle.

Their family just keeps growing, but being part of a family means knowing and loving the members no matter what. It means seeing their faults and looking beyond them.

That was easy with her brothers, her first friends. Once, she'd been lonely but strong and had protected them and been loved in return. Then, she'd been weak, so weak, and they'd shielded and cherished her.

It's a twinge harder with the Vizard. It isn't that they used to be Shinigami because Ichigo is part Shinigami too, and Nel loved him from the moment they met. It's that they were so… well, not bitter. Jaded perhaps. World-weary and tired in a way that not even sentient Hollows were.

Hachi's too quiet. Lisa too lusty. Hiyori's angry at the world and everyone in it. Rose can't forget; Love doesn't want to. Shinji, sadly enough, is the most stable one.

And now, with their new members, Ichigo is tired. Sousuke-san isn't happy unless he's plotting against someone. Kisuke-san can't be without a secret.

It's a recipe for disaster, but somehow, it hasn't been that much of one. No more than the rest of their lives. More than everything else.

Nel's glad. She wants it to work out. She wants them to all be together and not be reaching for swords in the process. She wants them all there. Ichigo and Sousuke-san and Kisuke-san, too.

And really, she only bet that Sousuke-san would win because he honestly needs more people on his side, but she rather thinks it'll be a different outcome now. Nel suspects it's Lisa's doing, but she's too thrilled for them to care. And really, they do make Ichigo happy.

He deserves it. He deserves to be happy. To be loved and cherished and treasured.

He saved Neliel. He's how she met Shinji. How she survived the loss of her brothers.

And now, she's getting married. She's getting her happily ever after.

She wants Ichigo to have the same. She wants him to relax, to enjoy life. To realize that everything's not just going to be okay, it'll be fantastic.

She'd do just about anything to see it done. To see it happen.

But maybe now, she won't have to.

o0o0o

Lisa knows what they say behind her back.

Yeah, she's free with her affections and even her body. Does that make her a slut? Probably. Does she care? No. Never has. Never will.

Her real lover, her number one guy on a long list of them, doesn't seem to either. But then, Lisa supposes, being over two thousand years old does tend to make one secure and confident with themselves.

Or maybe Jyuushiro really is that generous with everything he owns. She honestly wonders about that. Wonders if he and Shunsui really did share everything. Including Shunsui's wife. She has her suspicions.

But not everybody is as liberated as she is. Well, truth be told, most people aren't. And they aren't as understanding as her past lovers either.

Even to Sousuke, sex is a commitment. Lisa had known that going in, but it had ended so quickly between them. Had barely lasted a year. And in all honesty, Sousuke was the one to call it quits. He'd known she wasn't satisfied being tied down, and he'd had plans on his mind even then.

And yeah, she'd been furious with him for nearly a century when she realized just what those plans were and that she'd been nothing but an accidental victim. Turn her into a Hollow if he had to. Stab her in the back if he had to. But at least do it on purpose.

But now, that anger's fizzled and died, and Lisa can actually look back and think that Sousuke is still a cute little freshman that her captain all but flung her at. Kisuke, of course, is better than the man-whore bastard he was those few times she'd slept with him.

Pity that she'll never get to try Ichigo. But he has enough problems juggling two people, and as much as Lisa likes sex, she likes having friends and being able to look herself in the mirror more. Sleeping with Ichigo, seducing him, would really hurt him. Not just a little. A lot. Maybe irreparably.

Best leave him to his two guys and let the three of them settle it.

Leave it to Ichigo the king. The knight in shining armor. The owner with two very different pets – men – vying for his attention.

Sousuke, the cat. Doing his own thing while people usually have to resort to bribes to get him close. But occasionally, he'll deign on his own to give his affections.

Kisuke, the dog. Always waiting for master to come home. To show him a scrap of affection. To love him like he loves them.

Though admittedly, the master has changed. It's not Yoruichi anymore but Ichigo. And that's definitely several steps up for him. At least, Ichigo loves him back, even if he's in love with someone else at the same time.

Bummer that one.

It's the least Lisa could do for their fearless leader to help him out with his so-called problem. Though Lisa really can't see what's wrong with two hotties panting after her. She has fantasies like that; they've yet to come true.

Double bummer.

Jyuushiro just laughs when she tells him that night. Which is right after she tells him that Ichigo is safe and not to worry and can he please just relax for a few hours before they go in tomorrow?

"You cheated," Jyuushiro accuses, but there's a smile both in his voice and on his face.

Yesterday, when Ichigo had gone off on his own, he'd been all worry and concern. Now though, he's light and happy and maybe a bit flirty as he unbraids her hair for her.

She shrugs. "I helped," Lisa corrects. "He needed it. Badly. And he needs them. Both of them, I think. He'll be happier this way, and so will they."

"Eventually," Jyuushiro puts in, but he's still smiling as his hand creeps up her arm to her shoulder. He pulls back her collar just enough to place a soft kiss on her neck that sends shivers down her spine.

"This way, everything works out and no one gets left behind. Who cares what everybody else thinks?" Lisa dismisses and shimmies out of her underwear before anything else. That way it's like Jyuu is unwrapping a present.

"I suppose," he acknowledges, now working at the ties to her top. "But you just want to win the bet."

Lisa scoffs at that and helps him out of his haori. "I'm the one running it. Shinji and Nanao are the ones who said he'd take both of them."

"I'm sure that everyone else will be so disappointed, too." He laughs and sneaks a kiss to her cheek and then her mouth. "But you'll still make a killing on all the people who lost."

"You're just mad you didn't put any money down yourself," she shoots back, already reaching for his pants.

"Just so I know who'll come knocking down our door, screaming bloody murder," he puts in drolly, and Jyuushiro steals another kiss to shut her up. Using the opportunity to lower her to the bed and settle on top of her.

There's isn't much talking after that. More like moans and grunts and the occasional scream that's sure to traumatize all their neighbors. Her poor division is already traumatized enough. His isn't far behind.

"Does it bother you?" Lisa asks after they've finished and are curled together. Her head is on his shoulder, and her left leg is between both of his.

"Does what bother me?" he questions back, brushing hair from her face.

She knows he isn't this dense, but sometimes, she really wonders. No one can be this good. This nice. This perfect.

Can they?

"That I still fuck everything that moves," she replies bluntly.

He honestly seems puzzled at her tone. At the question. At the whole conversation.

"Why would it?" he returns and tilts his head just so.

Lisa swallows. She doesn't cry. She won't. But her eyes burn.

Jyuushiro just runs a hand up and down her back until she can control herself. And Lisa knows then that commitment isn't nearly as scary as she used to think. That tying herself to someone doesn't mean that it has to be a stranglehold.

Loyalty isn't the same thing as monogamy, after all, and neither is love. Lisa's glad that they've so quickly come to an understanding. She'll be his love and his lady and maybe someday his wife. But no matter whose bed she finds herself in during the day, it'll be his she sleeps in every night.

And that's just the way it should be.


	47. Futures

At night, Ichigo doesn't dream for himself anymore. Instead, while sleeping his mind accesses that separate part of him that is king. He dreams the dreams of any one of the thousands of Shinigami under his command. Or the hopes and wishes of the souls waiting to be incarnated into the living world. He sees the occasionally primitive – occasionally not – desires of the Hollow. Those desperately wanting to be saved, those eagerly anticipating a different future.

At night, Ichigo is more than Ichigo. He is King – capital letter and everything. He isn't one man but a thousand minds, all clamoring for attention. He sleeps, restful, but the dreams are never his own.

By the time he wakes, Ichigo has forgotten the particulars. But he never forgets the emotions and stores them away for the next night.

o0o0o

"I picked this place out because it has a lot of space." Kisuke gestures to the wide open front room and the multiple hallways that attach to it. "Plus, it's close to Seireitei without actually being under the Shinigami's thumb."

Beside him, Tessai nods in approval. "Good choice, tenchou." His gaze wanders over the undecorated walls, probably already arranging furniture in his mind. "And you?"

Without his consent, Kisuke feels his cheeks attract some heat. "I have quarters in the Royal Palace."

"With Ichigo-kun?"

A full on flush darkens his cheeks. Kisuke straightens his shoulders, turning to look at Tessai. Who has always been more friend than servant, despite the route their roles had taken.

"Yes," he confirms. "With Ichigo." He pauses to make a face. "And unfortunately, Aizen as well. He, however, is easily avoidable. For the most part."

"I'm happy for you."

A smile flutters to Kisuke's lips. "It's unusual and not exactly ideal," he says, lifting his shoulders. "But..."

Tessai inclines his head. "But you're happy now. I can tell." He steps away, pretending to examine one of the huge windows in the main room. "I wasn't sure you would be after Yoruichi-sama left. I was wrong. I am glad for that." He glances over his shoulder. "You love him."

Warmth floods Kisuke's insides. He fights not to grin like a lovesick fool.

"I do."

Strange how easy it is to admit now. And a little embarrassing, too.

He clears his throat noisily. "So... let me show you the rooms I thought Uryuu and Jinta would like."

Laughter rumbles in Tessai's chest. "Lead the way, tenchou."

o0o0o

The first night they share together is awkward. Ichigo feels like a stiff board on the appropriately sized mattress, lying between his two lovers. Kisuke on his right, Sousuke on his left. None of them sleeping. All of them barely moving, wishing to draw the least attention to themselves.

' _This_ _isn't_ _going_ _to_ _work_ ,' Ichigo thinks glumly.

He can't sleep with this much tension. He's not comfortable on his back. But he daren't turn to one side or the other, for fear of being accused of favoritism or for one or the other to think Ichigo has deliberately chosen.

He wants to sleep. He's so very tired. The fatigue is pulling at him, though his mind races a mile a minute. There's a deep, steady thrum of reiatsu in the world around him. So many things to follow, to keep track of.

Somewhere in Seireitei, two men are clashing blades. He can feel the steady hum of each Shinigami on patrol. Somewhere else in Hueco Mundo, a Hollow clenches with hunger. Down on the living world, a little boy spirit runs for his life. The Shinigami protector is just too far away.

Numerous instances such as those. Ichigo's aware of them all. They flash by so quickly, and just as he realized in that first terrible week of acclimatizing himself to the changes becoming king had wrought, that though he knows all, he can't _fix_ all. He can only do his best from here, guiding and watching, a firm hand and a compassionate heart.

The realization is truth, but it's worrisome. He wants to sleep. He wants to curl up with his lovers and just forget however briefly the responsibilities outside his door.

But he can't. Because they hate each other. And here he is, the Ichigo-shaped buffer between them. Too afraid to do anything for fear of upsetting the delicate balance.

' _It's_ _not_ _going_ _to_ _work_ ,' he realizes helplessly. And his eyes shutter briefly closed. He had been optimistic to think they'd even try.

He sighs audibly with every intention of sitting up and telling them to go to their respective rooms or moving himself to the floor. Let them handle sharing a bed without him, if they could stomach it. Besides, he'd rather sleep alone than suffer in this tense silence.

In the same moment, however, Kisuke turns toward him. Something like determination shines in his eyes, and his lips press together firmly. His hand reaches out, landing on Ichigo's shoulder.

"I know you don't like sleeping on your back," he says quietly.

"I'd prefer it if you were comfortable," Sousuke says from the other end, and the bed creaks as he too turns on his side. His gaze briefly flicks past his would-be lover to Kisuke before returning to Ichigo.

Confusion merges with reluctance and the lingering feelings of disappointment, and Ichigo warily turns on his right side, curling into his usual sleeping position. He's facing Kisuke, and now he's just waiting for the backlash. For Kisuke to look victorious, Sousuke to hide his disappointment behind that solid mask of his.

Instead, the two of them move in tandem. Kisuke shifts closer, hand sliding to rest just below Ichigo's arm. Sousuke presses against Ichigo's back, one arm falling over his flank. They aren't touching each other, but it's a start.

For the first time in a month, Ichigo dares believe this might actually work.

o0o0o

"So," Unohana-san says, pulling Sousuke from his thoughts. "When shall I expect grandchildren?"

Sousuke, hands lifted in the middle of pouring tea, nearly drops the pot. "Excuse me?"

She smiles at him, sweetly serene, but with an edge of teasing. Her eyes are too blue and not nearly innocent enough.

"Grandchildren," she repeats. "I hope to see some soon, you know. None of us are getting any younger."

He manages to pour the tea without spilling a drop before settling back down. He eyes her across the table, but she just keeps smiling.

"This is true. However, as Ichigo and I are both male, I don't see children as a possibility." He pauses, a wicked thought occurring to him. "Unless, of course, he can convince Urahara to undergo a change."

Unohana-san laughs and curls her fingers around the cup. "I don't think Urahara-kun will agree to that." She shakes her head. "Besides, Sousuke, there is such a thing as adoption."

"It's a little early to think about children," Sousuke replies and sips at his tea, the pleasant aroma floating to his nose and the taste dancing on his tongue. "When would we have the time? The attention to spare? And how exactly would that work with Urahara as a factor?"

She shrugs. "Involve him," Unohana-san says, and she looks at him squarely, her eyes understanding and with their own share of grief. "My feelings are much the same as yours, Sousuke. But the past is the past, and if we allow ourselves to cling to it, we'll never be able to enjoy our future."

He mulls over her words and has to set down his teacup. He isn't angry over this. Not anymore. But there is still something all too much like hate curling in his soul, and he isn't certain it'll ever go away no matter how much time passes.

"You've forgiven him then?" His voice is deceptively soft.

"It's not as simple as that, but yes." Unohana-san sighs softly. "It is a matter of intent, Sousuke. It was an order that he obeyed. It was not done out of malicious will so as much as it pains me to admit… I no longer blame him for their deaths."

Sousuke toys with his cup, warmth soaking through thick ceramic. His gaze lowers to the pale green liquid as ripples stir across the surface.

"In other words," he says, carefully choosing what he means to say. "If I want to cling to my hatred of him, I must turn the same feelings onto my own actions."

Unohana-san sips at her tea. "Ichigo-kun has already forgiven you. I would draw from his example." Her mouth curves above the rim of the cup. "And get started on those grandchildren for me."

Her last words break the tension of the moment. Sousuke dissolves into a light chuckle.

"You aren't going to let that go, are you?" he asks but already knows the answer.

"Not if I can help it," Unohana-san replies cheerily.

o0o0o

In the end, he's not Shinji's best man but the officiant. Ichigo stands at the front of the massive room, redecorated for the sake of the wedding, with what seems like half of Seireitei in attendance.

As King of Soul Society, Shinji had reasoned, who was better suited for marrying them? Jyuushiro? In which case, no, Shinji would prefer Ichigo. So he'd agreed, and Sousuke had taken his place as Shinji's best man, something which amuses Ichigo to no end.

Especially when Neliel asked Kisuke to be her matron of honor. Oh, many snickers were to be had at that request. Kisuke, in a fit of good mood and humor, had agreed.

Here they are, standing diagonally to Ichigo, watching with Shinji for the blushing bride to walk down the aisle. She's resplendent in shades of cream and pale green, better suited than the pure white of a traditional western-style bride.

On Sousuke's other side are Love and Rose. Beside Kisuke are Lisa and Hiyori, the latter of whom is still scowling despite the relative celebration of the moment. Ichigo thinks Hiyori will be scowling even on her own wedding day; pity the poor man who decides her to be his goddess.

The music starts. It isn't the traditional march, but then, nothing about this wedding has been traditional in the slightest. Shinji rejects tradition by wearing a zoot suit in stunning shades of maroon and gunmetal, rather than a black tux and tie. He's even wearing a hat, and he keeps reaching up, running his fingers along the rim of it with a bright grin.

No, nothing about this wedding has been traditional. But considering the bride and groom, Ichigo supposes it couldn't have happened any other way.

Neliel enters as the music reaches a chipper crescendo, and the gathered audience rises respectfully to their feet. A subtle applause marks her approach down the aisle. She's beaming, hair done up in a soft bun with curling tendrils escaping from the light twist. She isn't wearing a veil either.

As she approaches the dais, Shinji steps down a single stair to offer a hand. She takes it and together, they step forward.

Ichigo's having a hard time fighting to keep the smile from his own face. He clears his throat noisily and pulls a paper from his back pocket. He's not had nearly enough time to memorize what he's supposed to say, so he's got a cheat sheet.

Neliel and Shinji are standing there, beaming like a couple of fools, and Ichigo's hard pressed not to match their glee.

"To all gathered here today," Ichigo starts.

And the rest as they say, is history.

o0o0o

Kisuke corners Ichigo in the massive bathing room, sliding behind the man standing at the counter and curling his arms around Ichigo's waist. He nuzzles into the damp skin of Ichigo's neck. Ichigo just leans over, spits into the sink, and catches Kisuke's gaze in the mirror.

"You're up early."

It's true. Of them all, Kisuke is always the last to rise. He sleeps late as often as possible to counter the fact he's up late at night, unwilling to fall asleep while in the middle of a project.

Kisuke presses a kiss to the side of Ichigo's neck. One hand roams upward to explore a bare abdomen as the other wanders downward. Fingers cup Ichigo's soft length through the fabric of his undergarments.

"I wanted to catch you before you started your usual round of boring, long meetings."

In his arms, Ichigo shivers. His hips roll into the blond's skilled touch, arousal slowly filling with blood.

"Catch me?" he questions, but his voice has gone low.

Kisuke grins, pressing himself against Ichigo's back. "Mm hm," he replies and nuzzles the side of Ichigo's face. "Can you think of a better way to start the day?"

"Not particularly," his lover says, and there's humor in his voice. He turns his head, their lips barely brushing. "But you'll have to be quick." His breath hitches as Kisuke's fingers stroke him, flesh hardening under the sensual onslaught.

Kisuke chuckles. "As you wish, your majesty," he murmurs and leans closer, stealing Ichigo's lips for a kiss that tingles on his tongue.

o0o0o

"No," Ichigo puts in tiredly. He leans in the doorway of his quarters whilst Kisuke and Sousuke look at him, standing in the hallway just outside his room. "I don't have the energy to put up with your subtle battle over the bed."

He starts to close the door, letting that be that. But Kisuke's hand smacks against the wood, keeping it open, even as Sousuke steps forward. Ichigo doesn't fail to catch their exchanged glances either.

"We are not here to fight," Sousuke insists quietly, trying to edge into the room. "We are here to help."

Ichigo's shoulders slump. Fatigue drags on every muscle, every limb, until he feels like he could curl up on the floor and sleep for days. The past two days have been nothing but endless meetings, and he's plain _exhausted_.

"Help?" he repeats and shakes his head. "I'm too tired to try and balance things, to prove there's no favoritism. I'd rather sleep by myself. Thanks anyway."

Something flickers over Kisuke's face, but Ichigo turns away before he tries to interpret it. He really is too drained.

They follow him into the room, Sousuke closing the door behind them. Ichigo would like to protest, but he's not in the mood to do that either. If they're that determined to be here then they can deal with his piss-poor mood and be happy for it.

He sheds layers of clothing, leaving nothing but his boxers, and crawls into bed. He takes up as much space as obnoxiously possible; Ichigo's not going to make this easy for them.

By some silent agreement – agreement? A first! – Kisuke and Sousuke climb onto the bed on either side of him. Ichigo closes his eyes, grits his teeth, tries to relax. But relaxation won't come; he's too tense.

That's when hands land on his shoulders – Kisuke by the soft tingle of reiatsu. Fingers rub into sore muscles, warm and tender.

"We're not here to argue," the blond murmurs. "We're here for you."

 _We_. Not a singular but we. Another first.

Ichigo relaxes by a fraction, his eyes sliding open as Sousuke eases down next to him. He takes Ichigo's hand sprawled across the mattress and pulls it toward his lips. A warm mouth descends, pressing a kiss to Ichigo's palm, brown eyes soft with affection.

"Let us be by your side," Sousuke adds, his gaze briefly flicking past Ichigo to Kisuke, and some silent communication travels between them. "Please."

In the face of their earnest affection, Ichigo doesn't have the will to argue. He nods and sinks into comfort. Into the feel of Kisuke's hands over his tense muscles. Into the soft caress of Sousuke's lips.

It's intimacy without lust, and when he falls asleep that night, pressed between their warmth, it's the best sleep he's gotten in years.

o0o0o

Somehow, Ichigo's ascension to the role of king has prompted more feelings of victory and togetherness than ending Aizen's war. And with those feelings of togetherness comes the irrepressible urge to pair up, start families, and move on.

Yoruichi, however, is one notable exception.

While everyone around her joins together like lovesick fools, she's quite content to rebuild the second division to its former glory. Correcting the wrongs her ill-appointed predecessor had committed, shaming the legacy that Soifon left behind.

She's also made it her duty to whip the Onmitsukidoh into shape. After clearing out the Maggot's Nest and sealing the now-abandoned prison up tight, Yoruichi has shifted the purpose of the Onmitsukidoh as well. For one, Ichigo-heika does not condone assassinations. So instead, they now focus on intelligence. On watching the moods and whims of the populace and providing counterbalance to enemies. On subtle body guarding and defending the realm and her ruler.

She doesn't mind the changes one bit.

Yoruichi is happily single. Though she does, on occasion, find her way into the beds of many a receptive partner. They don't mind. And frankly, neither does she.

Maybe, one day, when she's feeling particularly old and settled, Yoruichi will allow herself to commit. She'll pick a partner. Might even pop out a few kids for Kisuke to fawn over. But for now, she has her duty and her division and a trust in her king.

And that's enough.

o0o0o

"Do you have a seven?"

"Nope. Go fish."

"Drat."

Kisuke watches from the doorway. He's simultaneously perplexed and amused, as the three "guardians" – as they'd so named themselves – play a card game. And not an adult game either.

Gin, a mischievous grin curving his lips, ponders his cards. "Hmmm. Shun-chan... do you have a queen?"

"How do you always know?" Muttering under his breath, Shunsui plucks a card from his stash and flicks it Gin's direction.

"Family secret. Passed down through generations," Gin replies cheekily, plucking the card from thin air before turning to Renji. "Yer turn."

Scratching his chin, Renji contemplates his cards with more attention than Kisuke had ever seen him give either his training or his tedious reports to the sixth division. He shuffles his hand several times and tilts his head to the side.

"Do ya have a five?" the redhead finally asks Gin.

"Nope," Gin replies with barely repressed glee. "Go fish."

Huffing, Renji reaches for the stack. "Ya know, I think he's lyin'," he tells Shunsui, but even Kisuke can tell it's with humor and teasing.

"You're just a sore loser." Shunsui laughs, sprawling out over the floor and making himself comfortable.

"So says the man with more cards than any o' us," Gin comments. He looks pointedly down at his three sets of matching cards already.

Kisuke's eyebrows try to mate with his hairlines. "Please don't tell me you've all been playing cards since the end of the war," he says, strolling into the room and announcing his presence.

"Of course not," Shunsui replies loftily and waves a hand through the air. "Sometimes, we play board games."

"Or Simon Says!" Gin adds cheerfully.

Renji grunts. "And on one occasion we'll never repeat, a rousin' round of charades."

Kisuke can't help himself; he bursts into laughter. There's something rather ridiculous about the idea of the three of them – one who might be considered a mortal enemy – passing the time by playing games of some sort.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," Shunsui says, only partially disgruntled, and looks pointedly at Renji. "Got any kings?"

A curse fills the room as Renji tosses him all three that he has.

o0o0o

Ichigo finds Sousuke in the library, buried in his book. He looks quite thoughtful as he balances his chin on his knuckles and his elbow on the arm of a chair. He's so engrossed in whatever he's reading that he neither hears Ichigo enter the room nor sees him approach.

Which is, in Ichigo's opinion, the perfect opportunity to pounce. If there's one thing Ichigo has come to enjoy doing, it's disturbing Sousuke's perfect poise and surprising him. He loves watching Sousuke in a second of startlement.

Ichigo drops down on his lap, straddling the brunet and draping his arms over Sousuke's shoulders. His lover belatedly lowers his book.

"What are you reading?" Ichigo asks, fingers toying with the nape of Sousuke's neck.

Sousuke closes the book and reaches out, setting it on a nearby table. "Nothing quite so interesting as this," he replies warmly, hands settling on Ichigo's hips. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Desire swells slowly in Ichigo's belly as he shifts, glad that he's already thought to lock the doors. Though to be fair, the way his powers work, no one's getting in this room if he doesn't want them to. Sousuke, however, doesn't know that.

"I seem to recall an emergency interrupting us this morning," Ichigo responds huskily. "I'm here to finish what you started."

Sousuke's hands, bold for once, slide from his hips to venture downwards. "Here?"

"Yes, here," Ichigo confirms and leans closer until there's less than an inch between their faces. "Unless you don't approve, in which case I'll just go away..." he trails off and shifts his weight.

Sousuke's grip tightens. His eyes have gone dark, almost black. Ichigo is all he sees.

"I said no such thing," he replies, an almost growl to his voice. "But you do have a meeting in an hour."

Ichigo's pulse leaps, his pants growing uncomfortably tight. "Then we'll have to make this count," he murmurs against the brunet's lips.

Sousuke makes a noise of approval in his throat. "I intend to."

o0o0o

To no one's surprise, Karin graduates with top honors after only two years in the Academy. To everyone's shock, however, she is then assigned the eleventh division, per her request according to Jyuushiro.

She spends the next few months fighting and clawing her way to the top, easily dispatching each and every person who stands in her way, until she has no one to contend with but Kenpachi and Yachiru. At which point, Kenpachi grunts that she's like her brother in every way but one – Karin's smarter.

She cheekily grins and then demands to be transferred to another division, one that has an open position worthy of her talents. Especially since she has no intention of fighting Yachiru to obtain hers. Laughing a bit too ferally, Kenpachi points the way to the ninth division and gleefully sets her free, set to do havoc on any who dare cross her path.

Toushirou later tells Kenpachi that it's a wise move. That it's best to do as Karin says rather than argue. In that, she's _very_ much like her brother.

Karin strides into the ninth division, head held high, with a dozen easily obtained victories under her belt and glowing recommendations from her instructors at the Academy. She offers her services for the remaining position open, reiatsu tingling with intent to give proof of her shikai, if it is so desired.

Hisagi, the captain and a man with a keen sense of survival, readily agrees. Karin, after all, is a much better choice than the others he'd been considering for the position. And in the end, it's safer for everyone.

With Karin's appointment to the ninth division lieutenant, the Gotei 13 is finally operating at full capacity. And somewhere within the Royal Palace, Ichigo breathes a sigh of relief.

o0o0o

For all the years he's been king, Ichigo hasn't encountered this situation before. Not even from the one Shinigami who, arguably, should have been the first.

Kneeling before him, utterly pleading, Hanatarou is the prefect picture of subservience. Sitting beside him, Yuzu is serene and hopeful, her hands folded delicately in her lap.

"Ichigo-heika," Hanatarou says, tone quiet and humble. "I formally ask that you allow me to take your sister's hand in marriage."

Baffled, Ichigo's composure betrays him. "Shouldn't you be asking Isshin that?"

Yuzu's lips twitch with humor, but Hanatarou looks up at him, eyes open and frank.

"With all due respect, heika, you're much stronger than Kurosaki-fukutaichou."

Behind Ichigo, there is a muffled noise. Which is surely the sound of Kisuke concealing his laughter. Ichigo shoots Sousuke a helpless look, but the brunet shakes his head and shrugs. Clearly, Ichigo is on his own in this. Neither of his lovers are being remotely helpful.

He sighs. "I get your point," Ichigo allows, "but you don't have to actually ask for permission anymore." That tradition had fallen by the wayside eons ago, according to the occasional spurt of information his newly acquired kingly powers deigned to provide.

Kisuke snorts again but quickly disguises it with a cough. No one is fooled.

"I would prefer to cover all my bases, sir," Hanatarou replies.

Ichigo works his jaw. By the gods, not even Toushirou has asked, and he's been attached to Karin for far longer. To be fair, Ichigo suspects the both of them will choose to elope instead. It's a much saner option.

And really, Hanatarou doesn't have to call him sir. Like ever.

He turns his attention to Yuzu. "Do you accept his proposal?" he questions since it's honestly her choice. Not that it isn't obvious what she already wants.

"With all my heart." His sister smiles, an expression of pure joy and affection. Her entire face lights up.

Hanatarou looks at her, adoration in his eyes, and Ichigo half-expects rainbows and daises to sprout around them as playful angels sing a chorus. It's that kind of sickeningly cute moment.

Ichigo lifts his hands, spreading them out in front of him. "Well, then I don't see a reason to protest or anything. Feel free to get married. Congratulations."

He watches as Yuzu and Hanatarou happily embrace, while Kisuke gives a polite clap behind him and Sousuke looks long-suffering.

Time, as ever, continues to move on.

o0o0o

Ichigo consults his notes, scratching fingers over his head. "So... you've got thirteen fully staffed divisions now, right?"

"With the addition of your sister, yes, I now have a full roster," Jyuushiro confirms and sets aside his paperwork on his desk with a faint snap. "Did you want to make more changes?"

He waves a hand of dismissal. "Nah. I trust you," Ichigo replies. "I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need."

"I do." Jyuushiro smiles. "But before you leave in a hurry, might I ask how you are doing?"

Ichigo actually seems taken aback.

"In regards to...?"

It's Jyuushiro's turn to gesture, though this time he uses one that seems to encompass the world as a whole. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why. He wonders if Shunsui's been ratting him out.

"Anything. I'm still your friend, Ichigo-kun, and you have to admit, your two closest advisers are a bit... _compromised_."

Ichigo laughs, relaxing back into his chair. He never thought after the clusterfuck that had been Aizen's war it'd be this easy to talk with Jyuushiro again.

"You have a point." He sets his own paperwork aside. "Things are... actually good."

"No complications?" Jyuushiro arches a brow.

"Only the ones that could be expected." Ichigo purses his lips, considering. "They're working together more. Less snapping and growling, more compromising. I don't feel like I'm babysitting school kids anymore. Which makes my job a lot easier."

Jyuushiro chuckles. "They're intelligent men after all. What of your duties? Are you learning to balance them?"

"A bit. It gets tiring sometimes," Ichigo admits and then manages a sly grin. "But then, I have two capable advisers."

"Indeed you do."

A spike in reiatsu is all the warning Ichigo receives before Jyuushiro's door suddenly slams open. He turns and looks over his shoulder to see Lisa looming in the entryway, the smile on her face at complete odds with her boisterous appearance.

"Hey, Ichigo," she says briefly as she strolls into the room, the air of command swirling about her nearly rivaling Jyuushiro's own.

"Nice seeing you again, Lisa." He tips his head.

She flashes him a grin. "Always a pleasure," Lisa replies before focusing on Jyuushiro, whose smile upon her appearance is faltering on the edges. "It's lunchtime, Jyuu. And I believe we have an appointment."

"So we do." Jyuushiro shoots Ichigo a look. One of commiseration. "If you'll excuse me, Ichigo, I did promise to have lunch with my intended."

Ichigo waves them off, infinitely amused at the way Lisa swings her weight around and Jyuushiro lets her. It's an odd pairing, but it works. Well, whatever makes them happy he supposes. At least Jyuushiro's smiling now.

o0o0o

"It's not fair," Shunsui whines, sounding like a teenaged girl as opposed to the millennia old man he actually was. "My sweet Nanao-chan's left me!"

Sousuke makes a noise in his throat, instead focusing on the sheets of paper spread out in front of him. He ignores Shunsui as he half-drapes across his nephew's desk, the perfect picture of betrayed disbelief.

"Is that so?"

He doesn't really want to _encourage_ Shunsui's melodrama, but Sousuke also knows full well that his uncle won't leave until he's spoken his peace.

"Yes," Shunsui says with a full pout. "To marry Bya-bo of all people." He turns a mournful look upon his dear nephew. "Why didn't _you_ marry her?"

Amusement tugs at Sousuke's mouth. "I should think that answer obvious. In case you haven't noticed, I'm attached to someone else."

"Yes, Ichigo-kun." Mischief dances in Shunsui's eyes then. "But once upon a time, you and Nanao-chan were like two lovebirds in a tree."

Sousuke inclines his head. He plucks one document from the stack and scans it quickly.

"It was in the past, yes. But you and I both know that it wasn't meant to be. Which is something she and I understand. We are better off as friends."

Rolling his eyes, Shunsui sits up, planting his chin on his knuckles. "Only because you were too focused on taking over the world."

"Not the world," Sousuke corrects with good humor. "Soul Society. For a good reason." He pauses, one finger gesturing to a point of data as he grabs another paper to confirm the total. "Please pass my congratulations onto her. Though I have little love for Kuchiki-taichou, he must be doing something right to keep her affections."

Shunsui snorts a laugh.

o0o0o

Isshin is all but vibrating with excitement. His reiatsu is a wild swirl around him that makes the tapestries on the walls ripple.

Ichigo though just stares at his father.

"Mom's... _what?_ "

"Pregnant!" Isshin declares with unabashed glee, eyes lit up and arms stretched wide as though he might hug Ichigo at any second. Wisely, Ichigo takes a step back. "You'll have another little brother or sister soon."

"How is that even _possible_?" Ichigo demands and tosses a wild glance over his shoulder, where Gin and Sousuke are both watching him, the former with amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Magic!" Gin chimes in with a perfectly straight face. "Guess ya wanted another sibling, Ichi-kun."

Slapping a hand over his face, Ichigo groans. He does _not_ want a mental image of his parents working hard at creating another sibling for him. No, he doesn't.

"We thought you should be the first to know," Isshin practically sings, all but bouncing in place. "We're going to tell Karin and Yuzu next."

Oh, to be the fly on the wall for _that_ particular conversation.

"I'm... happy for you?" Ichigo says with a wince.

He supposes having another sibling will be fun, and he's glad that his parents are reunited and happy. But still… how in the world does one mostly dead ghost and a kinda dead Shinigami create another soul? His kingly duties hadn't remotely hinted to this as a possibility!

Isshin's grin stretches wide, and all the kingly duties in the world aren't enough to save Ichigo from the crushing hug that Isshin attacks him with. Behind him, both Gin and Sousuke are snickering.

Traitors.

o0o0o

Ichigo fights a yawn as he opens the door to his quarters and slips inside, closing it quietly behind him. The room is dimly lit, but it's been long enough that he could find his way to his bedroom and his bed even with his eyes closed.

He's too tired to do anything more than strip out of his clothes, leaving a trail of them behind him as he heads for their shared bedroom. It's dark here too, only a bit of moonlight seeping in through curtains over the windows. It's enough for Ichigo to see the lump on his bed – one lump, not two.

He smiles to himself. Kisuke and Sousuke are very nearly wrapped around each other. There's a bare inch of space between them. Once, many years ago, Ichigo could've parked a truck between their bodies. Now, things are quite different.

Shaking his head, Ichigo crawls onto the bed from the end of it. It takes him a moment to wiggle himself between his two lovers.

"Oy. Move over," he says, giving Sousuke's shoulder a push and nudging Kisuke's side.

"Mmmph," Kisuke says, barely coherent, as he scoots over a fraction. Which leaves Ichigo room to slide in next to him.

"Welcome home," Sousuke replies, more awake as he rolls over, giving Ichigo more space to fit comfortably.

He nestles between them, Kisuke instantly snuggling into his chest. One arm drapes over Ichigo's hips, breath ghosting across the younger man's throat. He exhales noisily and just like that instantly drops back into a deep sleep. Their reiatsu curls together comfortably, helping to soothe the frazzled fatigue.

Sousuke settles against Ichigo's back, a warm presence that guards him where he's most vulnerable. His arm slides around Ichigo's chest, trapped now between the other two. Without a moment of hesitation, not caring that he's inadvertently touching Kisuke as well.

They don't kiss. They don't touch each other intimately. Ichigo doesn't think they'll ever develop lust or feelings of affection. But they are friends now, no longer enemies, and this works. Amazingly enough, this works.

Ichigo's eyes slide close, safe and secure, held between his two lovers. Tomorrow will be another day of kingly duties. Kisuke will bury himself in his lab. Sousuke will tell Ichigo about all his meetings. Soul Society will recover, and the world will move on.

Strange how it all turns out.

* * *

_The End_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Better that We Break](https://archiveofourown.org/works/469651) by [a_raleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_raleigh/pseuds/a_raleigh)




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